


Firestorm

by orange_panic_archive



Series: Fearless [3]
Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra, Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Action & Romance, Drama & Romance, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Family Secrets, Fire Nation Royal Family, Firebending & Firebenders, Not Canon Compliant, Plot, Politics, Really not even close to canon at this point
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:28:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 42
Words: 98,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27763003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orange_panic_archive/pseuds/orange_panic_archive
Summary: WIP sequel to Glass. Tags and relationships to be added.Years after the events of Glass, the world is at peace. Or so it seems. Yet when an unlikely alliance throws the Fire Nation into spiralling chaos, Asami, Iroh, and the rest of Team Avatar are all that stand between life as they know it and the ashes of a new world order.
Relationships: Bolin/Opal (Avatar), Iroh II/Asami Sato, Izumi (Avatar)/Original Female Character(s), Korra/Mako (side), Kuvira/Mako (Avatar), Minor or Background Relationship(s), Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Series: Fearless [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1954804
Comments: 73
Kudos: 64





	1. PEMA

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the Fearless series and as such departs from LOK show canon mid-season 2. You can read "Firestorm" without reading the previous works, but by now it's so far from canon you really can't even see canon off in the distance if you squint. I try to make characters more or less true to how they behaved early in the show, but have taken a lot of liberties at this point with backstory, family structures, relationships, established OCs, etc. So be warned. If you want to start at the beginning, the first story is "AWOL": https://archiveofourown.org/works/25367389/chapters/61508536
> 
> "Firestorm" also skips around in time at points. All chapters are in the present, and in sequential order, unless otherwise marked at the top. First time I'm doing this so hopefully not too confusing.
> 
> As usual I own none of the LOK or ATLA rights. 
> 
> This is very, very work in progress. Some things will move/change a bit. There's no regular update schedule but I'm fairly fast. I love comments along the way.
> 
> M for language, non-explicit sex, drug use, non-graphic violence.

_ Three and a half years ago… _

“So how are things with Iroh?” Pema said, taking a seat. She smoothed out her red and yellow robes and crossed her legs. May as well cut to the chase. 

“Iroh?” Asami asked. She looked puzzled, then suddenly a bit worried. “He’s fine.” 

_ Hmm,  _ Pema thought.  _ I may have misjudged this. _ That didn’t happen often. She hadn’t spent years looking after a whole island full of airbenders and air acolytes without picking up on when people needed to talk, and usually what about. Something was clearly on Asami Sato’s mind. But it might not be what Pema had thought. She had always kept things close, and was much harder to read than someone like Iroh, Korra, or Bolin.

She regarded her companion, hoping for a hint, but beyond the slight worry in her green eyes Asami gave nothing away. A sharp widow’s peak topped somewhat pointed, delicate features now kept carefully neutral. She was tall and slender, but athletic rather than truly thin; Asami had, after all, invented smackball. Today she’d worn only dark gray shorts and a red t-shirt, her pale, toned legs tucked beneath her. Her wavy black hair was in a low, loose ponytail that reached halfway down her back. Pema smiled a little to herself. Iroh had always been private, even as a teenager, but from the little she’d seen of his various girlfriends and crushes, oh boy did he have a type. Long dark hair, big eyes, bigger brains, and miles of leg? That poor man had never stood a chance.

“Oh. I’d assumed that’s what you wanted to talk to me about?” she said. She reached for the bag of potato chips Asami had brought. Tenzin insisted on keeping things pretty healthy on Air Temple Island, which was fine with her, but it was nice to have an excuse to indulge a little now and then. She loved Tenzin dearly, but the word “indulge” was not in his vocabulary. Pema popped a chip. Mmmm. Salty perfection.

“No, that wasn’t it.” Asami looked at her, confused. “What gave you that idea?”

Pema smiled.  _ Oh, good. _ She’d been more than a little worried when Asami had suddenly asked to catch up. They hadn’t seen each other in a while, she and Iroh both having first been hurt in that terrible fire and then subjected to all kinds of official nonsense at Republic City Central Command. When Iroh had come to Air Temple Island himself the previous week, he’d looked almost at the end of his rope. And given what he’d wanted to talk about, it didn’t sound like he was doing himself any favors when it came to stress. But that had always been Iroh. All or nothing, that kid. But if Asami wasn’t here for relationship advice, too, that was probably a good thing. Right? People only tended to ask for advice when they wanted something different than they had.

“Well that’s a nice change,” Pema said. She opened the top of the picnic basket and pulled out a thermos. “Tea?”

Asami nodded and took a cup. “A change?”

“It seems like all anyone ever asks me for is relationship advice,” Pema said. “You young people, especially. I’m thrilled that Tenzin and I can be a model, but still, it gets exhausting. I can’t pretend I have all the answers, and I think things were simpler when I was younger.”

Asami smiled at that. It was a nice smile, and one that Pema was glad to have seen a lot of over the last year. Good for her. Good for both of them. “So, who’s asked you for relationship advice?” she asked.

“Spirits, nearly everyone. Korra, Bolin, Iroh, Jinora, Bumi. Even one of the new airbenders, Opal Beifong. About the only person who hasn’t, besides you, is Mako, though I’d argue he probably needs it the most.” That was a bit of an understatement. What she wouldn’t give for five minutes to talk some sense into that kid.

“Wait, Iroh? Iroh asked you for relationship advice?” 

“In a manner of speaking, yes.” Pema took another sip of tea, again carefully watching Asami’s reaction.

The worried look was instantly back on the young woman’s face. “Do I… is there anything that I should know?” she asked quietly. Spirits, that wasn’t a lot of trust there. Everyone who got within 20 feet of Iroh knew he was head over heels in love and had been for ages. It was plastered all over his face like a neon sign. But Pema supposed anyone who’d walked a bit in Asami Sato’s shoes might have trouble reading even that.

“I’d like to respect his confidence, so I can’t tell you,” she said, trying to smooth it over a little. Iroh had, in fact, been asking them what they knew about United Republic proposal and marriage customs, his poor face almost as red as his uniform. “But it’s nothing to worry about. Not unless you’ve decided that you don’t like him anymore. Which, based on the face you’re making right now, I somehow very much doubt.”

The young woman’s expression changed entirely. No one could mistake the look on her face now as anything but profound relief. “Not a problem,” she grinned.

“You really love him, don’t you?” Pema asked.

"I do." Asami positively beamed, and Pema felt the last of her reservations fall away. Sometimes she’d wondered if perhaps Iroh’s attachment was a bit stronger, but she was confident now that they simply showed it differently. If he was a neon sign, she might be the building’s foundation; unglamorous and mostly hidden, but not any less strong because of it.

Pema reached for a sandwich. “Good,” she said. “I suspected as much. You both deserve it.” She took a bite, then swallowed. “So, now that I’ve wound up making us talk about relationships anyway, what did you  _ actually  _ want to ask me?”

“I wanted to ask you about bending,” Asami said.

Well. That really was unexpected.

***

“I’m sorry,” Pema apologized. “That was going too far.” She shook her head a little. It had been an uncharacteristic outburst. But really, what the girl was talking about was dangerous. Elemental bending wasn’t something to be given or taken away by humans, let alone replicated by mecha. It was a gift granted by the spirits. Meddling in that, even well-intentioned meddling, was wrong. The kind of mecha Asami had created wasn’t bending, either, and calling it such was to her almost a kind of blasphemy. A few puffs of air here, a burst of flame there. If anyone knew what it was like to want to be an airbender, to ache for it so badly that it drove you to distraction, ruined your sleep, it was Pema. She thought she’d gotten over the worst of it years ago, but the arrival of new airbenders all over the world had ripped open that old wound more painfully than she could have imagined. After all, who was more deserving but her? But slapping on one of those air smackers wouldn’t give her bending any more than riding a sky bison meant she could fly.

At the same time, accusing Asami Sato of being like the Equalists had been cruel and unthinking. Arguably, no one had lost more to them than she had. Just like the rest of the group that Avatar Korra had gathered to her in Republic City, she only wanted to help.

“No,” Asami said, perhaps a little sadly. “It wasn’t. You’re right. And some of it is selfish. But there’s something else, too. My mecha saved my life. Those smackers saved my life. And that hypothetical man in the Forces, it could save his life, too. Except I’ve decided for him that he can’t have it, all because I somehow let them get into the wrong hands first.

“Pema, you said that if someone had had the ability to make you an airbender years ago, you wouldn’t have hesitated. But what about now? The new airbenders that were made after Korra kept the spirit portals open, many are training under Tenzin to help protect people, but there are probably others that aren’t. They could be anyone. They could even be dangerous.”

Pema thought about that. That was a different argument entirely. As far as the air acolytes knew, bending ability was distributed somewhat randomly throughout the population. There seemed to be a hereditary element, and many of the more powerful benders, someone like Iroh for example, came from long lines of the same. But there were also plenty of people like Korra who came from non-bender families, as well as people like Tenzin’s brother, Bumi, who was the son of the Avatar and arguably the world’s most talented waterbender but had been born without any bending at all. And with that came other variations, too. Amon, or Noatok as he’d been born, had been given bending just the same as Tenzin and her children. The same with all of the bending triads. If Asami was making the point Pema thought she was, it was that the spirits didn’t only give bending to good people. They gave bending to many people, and those people were left to choose how to use it. The Air Nomads taught that people were neither wholly good nor bad; rather, they were a collection of good and bad urges, and what mattered most was what they decided to act on. 

So what if someone bad, or rather, someone who chose to follow their bad urges, had been suddenly gifted with the power of air? Would the world be better off if Amon had won, and airbending had been wiped from the earth? Pema thought of the years she’d dedicated as an air acolyte, the sheer grace and beauty of the element of air, and knew her answer before Asami even asked the question. After all, if the only sure way to stop all bad uses of bending was to take bending away from everyone, the same would be true of her mecha. 

“Would you take airbending away from all of them if it meant preventing a few bad people from learning the art?” The young woman met her gaze steadily, and by the set of her jaw Pema knew she already knew the answer as well.

“No,” she said firmly. “No, Asami, I wouldn’t.” 

Pema took another sip of tea. Everyone had a choice, she reasoned. And if it turned out that one or two of the new airbenders pulled more from their pile of bad urges than good? Well, that’s why Tenzin and Korra had been trying so hard to find them. It was probably nothing a little care and training couldn’t fix.


	2. ASAMI

Asami pulled up fast outside the downtown townhouse just as her right rear tire hit the ice. She felt it immediately. She pumped the brakes and spun the wheel, hoping to at least pull into a glide, but she was too close. Her rear wheel jumped the curb just as the passenger door hit the back of the parked satomobile in front of her with a faint but audible crunch. 

_Fuck._

For a moment Asami just sat there, breathing hard, red rage pulsing behind her eyes. Then she shifted the sato back into gear and parallel parked as best she could, rolling back onto the street with a jangling thump. She turned the key and huffed, then banged her head gently against the cold steering wheel. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._ She was an excellent driver and hadn’t been in an accident since she was a teenager, and even those hadn’t been her fault, no matter how Mako told the story of how they met. But based on how her week had been going, or really her month, it was no surprise she’d finally hit someone. Honestly, she’d have been less surprised if a piano had fallen out of an upper window and flattened her hood entirely. It would have been just her luck. Still, she wasn’t looking forward to having one more thing to deal with.

Asami swore again, then dug in her handbag for a piece of paper. She found a business card some slick twit had given her at the last conference, scratched out his information, then scribbled down her own phone number and a brief apology on the back. She was careful not to leave a name though. The word “Sato” was about as closely associated with “fortune” as it was with “mobile,” and Asami didn’t want anyone getting ideas about how much the damage was worth. She’d made that mistake before and had learned a hard and expensive lesson about other people’s honesty.

It seemed that lately everything that could go wrong, had. First there had been the manufacturing defect. Future Industries had a AAA rating and, as far as she knew, had never shipped a dud. But someone (who no longer worked there, obviously) had missed the QA on an unknown number of the new light pedestrian bridges. They’d been one of her first projects when she’d joined Republic City Central Command and, because of this, had always been associated with her. “Satobridges,” people called them, even though Asami had never called them that herself. So when one had collapsed at the beginning of November she hadn’t taken it lightly. Thankfully no one had been hurt, but still. There were hundreds of these bridges now, spanning the immovable spirit vines all over the city, and it had fallen to the RCCC to check each and every one for defects in the synthetic material. Time and funding they didn’t have.

In the meantime, Future Industries stock had tanked. The downside of a AAA rating is that, as the old adage said, the higher you are, the farther you fall. It also didn’t help that Asami was still the youngest female president of any Block 50 company in the United Republic—or anywhere, as far as she knew—and that her appointment at the RCCC and the events three years ago had made her a well-known and interesting public figure. If some Varrick Industries piece of crap had failed, no one would have thought twice about it, or him. But Future Industries was the gold standard, and Asami herself under nearly constant scrutiny. The city had barely cleaned up the bridge’s pieces before the stories hit the papers.

Then there was the RCCC itself. She’d popped a 700-yuan bottle of champagne when President Raiko had lost his re-election, but it was turning out that his replacement was a different beast entirely—and not in a good way. Where Raiko had been a crude, egotistical, dangerous asshole, Noira Osion had at first seemed like a breath of fresh air. Direct, polite, and with an almost religious love of the United Republic, Asami had at first hoped that Osion would finally be a steady ally in her attempts to modernize Republic City. She had also, if she was honest with herself, really looked forward to finally having a woman in the top spot. But it was turning out that President Osion’s idea of modernism had little to do with the kinds of improvements that Asami prized, and she seemed even less inclined to take suggestions from an almost 24-year-old woman than Raiko had been. The results had been frustrating at best.

All of this would have been bearable if she hadn’t been alone. 

Asami got out and took a slow walk around the sato, surveying the damage. The good news, if there was good news to be had, was that most of the damage was to her own vehicle. The little blue satomobile she'd bumped had lost a bit of paint, but she’d hit the corner of the back bumper and it had mostly held up. Her own… that was another story. She had a sinking feeling going over the curb like that had knocked the frame. It wouldn’t be too hard to bang out the door, though. Hopefully she’d find time over the weekend to take it out to the estate and have a look. Come to think of it, that might even be nice. She could bring out the big rubber mallet and pretend the door was President Osion’s head.

She tucked the note under the blue sato’s wiper blade, pulled her long coat tight around her and made her way carefully up the icy walk. Late November was usually cool, but it rarely froze, and the recent cold snap had been one more unwelcome thing she had to deal with. Asami had always been a mix between a tom boy and a girly girl, with very little falling in between. Riding the motorbike she’d rebuilt herself to high school every day in a short skirt and heeled boots, for example, or wearing full makeup into most of the serious fights she’d been in with Korra and the other members of Team Avatar. She loved shoes and sparkling ball gowns just as much as the shooting range under the Sato estate. So, Asami had stubbornly continued to wear heels to and from the office, even if it meant picking her way down the icy streets like some kind of stalking bird. She’d had a couple of close calls, too. Iroh probably would have convinced her to wear boots, wearing her down with a look of quiet worry.

Her teal pumps clacked on the frozen sidewalk all the way up to the door. The apartment had a covered garage, but she hated staying there now, instead preferring to spend most of her time at the townhouse. The apartment was closer to City Hall, too, but even so it was just too empty and sad lately. She and Iroh had hardly ever used the townhouse once they’d gotten serious, so there were fewer memories here. At one point they’d even talked about selling it, but had somehow never gotten around to it. Now she was somewhat glad they hadn’t. As one of her father’s less-used properties it was a good, neutral place, with none of the significance of either the apartment or the estate where she’d grown up. 

Asami stopped on the mat to stamp her feet, at least hoping to avoid tracking ice into the house. That’s when she saw it. A single red rose petal, there on the doormat. She cocked her head, then bent and carefully picked it up. It was real, and fresh. Roses weren’t in season though, and there was no wind, so it was unlikely it had fallen from a bush or even an upper window and onto her covered doorstep. Asami looked around, but saw no more petals. She pocketed it, then reached out and carefully tried the door. It was locked, just as she’d left it.

She fumbled out her keys and went into the house. Asami froze. More rose petals littered the tile of the entryway. _Impossible._ Bolin had a spare key for emergencies, as did Ren, her private secretary, but as far as she knew they were the only people in the city who could have gotten in, at least through the front door. 

“Hello?” Asami called. No answer. She put down her bag on the hall table and took off her coat, which she hung quietly in the hall closet. “Hello?” she called again, a little louder this time. The house returned nothing but silence. This was getting… weird. 

She took a few careful steps, slipping out of her heels in order to stay as silent as possible. That’s when she saw the small piece of folded paper on the floor. Like the tile of the entryway it was white; she might have missed it entirely if her closing the door hadn’t moved it slightly. Asami knelt down and picked it up. It was a single piece of thick, luxurious paper, folded once in half. Inside were four lines in a neat block print she’d recognize anywhere. 

_I have shelves but no books_ _  
__Light, but no heat_ _  
__Inside my armor_ _  
__You’ll find a treat_

Asami bolted for the downstairs sitting room. She threw on the lightswitch. It was empty, the large fireplace cold and dark. She ran for the kitchen next, then the large dining room. Everything seemed exactly as she’d left it. Finally she pelted up two flights of narrow stairs and flung open the first door on the right, her old bedroom that she still used whenever she stayed at this house. Nothing. The bed was still rumpled from where she’d slept in it last night; she’d never been neat like Iroh, and now that he was gone the only time the bed got made was when she had someone in to clean. 

Asami sagged a little at the sight of that lonely bed, but she didn’t know what else she’d been expecting. “Hello!” she called, louder this time, just for good measure, but of course no one answered. No one was here. It wasn’t like anyone could really hide in a room that size.

On her way back downstairs Asami peeked inside what had been the old master bedroom on the second floor just for good measure, but everything there was neat and clean. Unlike the rest of the house it was still decorated just as her father had left it, all heavy oak furniture and thick velvet. Besides dusting, it probably hadn’t been touched in years. She closed the door again with a soft click. Some things were better left alone.

She unfolded the note again as she walked slowly back downstairs. It was clearly some kind of riddle. Asami read it again and again, focusing less on the words and more on the handwriting. She supposed it could be fake, but if so it was a good one. And who else would think to leave her a riddle? 

Maybe Bolin _had_ come by after all. But she couldn’t understand why he’d go through all of this trouble. If this was supposed to cheer her up he was out of his mind. He would know better than that; and if he didn’t, Opal certainly would. Though, come to think of it, Bolin had pretended to be Mako for two whole months when he’d first started dating Opal, unsure of how to tell her that he’d lied when they’d met. And he _had_ been a Triple Threat. Spirits knew forgery was in their routine. And tomorrow was her birthday, after all. Still. She loved Bolin, but his brain didn’t work like that. If it had been a wheelbarrow full of flowers or a stuffed bear the size of her satomobile, that she could believe, but this? The man was a sweetheart, but he was definitely not the author of the riddle.

Asami flicked on the light in the first floor living room and sat heavily on the couch, suddenly exhausted. _All right,_ she thought, unfolding the note again. She may as well see what she could make of it. _Shelves but no books. Shelves but no books._ That could be any other kind of shelf, or a play on the word shelf itself. Which didn’t narrow it down much. Light but no heat was a slightly better clue. Something bright, but cold. Shiny metal? That didn’t really have light though, just reflected it sometimes. Polar ice caps? That was stupid. But ice… maybe she had something there. Asami hopped up and hurried around the corner to the kitchen again. She crouched and pulled open the door to the freezer. It looked completely normal; lots of pistachio ice cream, a tray of ice cubes, and not much else. Iroh had done all of the cooking. Asami lived on delivery.

She sighed. There were certainly lots of treats in there, but something told her that wasn’t the answer. Then she had another thought. Asami stood and opened the refrigerator instead. Sure enough, the light clicked on, illuminating a bottle of pink champagne, a plate covered in foil, more rose petals, and another note. _Bingo._

She grabbed the note. It was made of the same creamy paper as the first. Another four lines greeted her, once again in the same tidy print.

 _Not a pool and not a lake_ _  
__This is something you can take_ _  
__Bring us with you when you go_ _  
__To fading mountains, warm with snow_

 _What the hell?_ she thought. _Warm snow?_ Against her better judgement, she was now more interested than afraid. Sure, it seemed like someone might have broken into her house to play an elaborate and cruel joke on her. At the same time, the riddles were pretty good, and it was nice to have a puzzle to focus on. She thought briefly of phoning Lt. Iameh at the RCCC anyway, just in case, but decided against it. Instead, she carefully lifted the foil. Underneath was a thick slice of chocolate cake and a single spoon. 

She replaced the foil and pulled the plate out, then set the champagne next to it on the counter. Next she opened a drawer next beside the oven and pulled out a small device. It looked a bit like a cross between a watch and a bracelet, with a dark gray band and a coin-sized disc in the middle about the thickness of a cookie. Asami slipped it over her right hand, nesting the disc carefully in the center of her palm. Even if she’d decided to play along with the riddles, it didn’t hurt to do so armed. 

She read the note again. _Not a pool or a lake. Okay. So… probably another body of water. An ocean?_ There was nothing ocean-like in the house as far as she knew, not even in the pictures. A picture wasn’t a bad idea though. It was, after all, something you could take. She went back to the living room and over to the table against the far wall. She picked up a small photograph in a silver frame. It showed her and Iroh at the beach; or rather, it showed her, laughing her head off, and Iroh’s muscular back as he carried her over his shoulder like a sack of mulch towards the bay. Asami flipped it over, but there was nothing unusual about the photo, nor anything underneath or behind it. She undid the clasp on the frame and popped the back. A little note in the same print as the riddles read, “Air Temple Island U. Rep 171.” There was still a little blood on the back of the photograph, too, but nothing new.

 _Okay, so not a photo of water. What about the second clue? Fading mountains and warm snow?_ This one had to be some kind of metaphor. There was no such thing as warm snow. _Fading mountains…_ What would make mountains fade. _Fog?_ Or… Asami rubbed her forehead, trying to think. _Earthbending?_ Shit, she was probably overthinking this. _A body of water you could take. All right. I can take a drink._ But there was nothing else in the fridge. _I can take a bucket full of water and wash the sato._ That was a bit of a stretch. For some reason her mind wandered to the first time she’d taken Iroh racing. She’d made him wash her racing sato afterwards as a kind of rite of passage, and they’d both gotten completely soaked in the water fight that followed. The bubble bath they’d taken together afterwards had been—

Asami stopped. _Taken. A bath was taken. A bath with mountains of warm, white bubbles._ She almost laughed. Of course. Champagne, chocolate cake, and a warm bubble bath. Whatever the intent was behind the riddles, at least someone had gotten the message that she’d had a terrible month. She tucked the champagne under her left arm and picked up the plate, careful to keep the electric smacker in her right palm free. She made her way back upstairs to the bathroom closest to her bedroom. It was empty though, as far as she could tell everything as she’d left it that morning. Hmm. She’d been so certain she was right. On a whim Asami climbed back to the third floor, still balancing the plate, and walked to the large bathroom partway down the hall. It was generally only used by guests, of which there hadn’t been any in some time. She opened the door and immediately spotted the slim champagne flute next to the large bathtub. 

As she approached she noticed the bathtub was already full. While they were hardly mountains, a thin layer of bubbles floated on the surface of gently steaming, perfumed water. A few rose petals drifted among the bubbles like red icebergs. On the lip of the tub was a clean fluffy towel and what looked like a pile of red fabric. Asami walked over and touched it carefully, then picked it up. It unfolded into a short robe made of silk so fine it was like air. The note concealed inside fell to the floor. 

_From the first of love to the end of downcast_ _  
__Here is your future, present, and past_ _  
__At the closing of bridegroom, be not bereft_ _  
__Open the one that’s the triple of left_  
  
Below these lines was one more. 

_Take your time._

Asami dipped a finger in the water and pulled it out with a hiss. The bath was very hot. It was cold outside, and she’d been out all day so it was also still a bit cold inside, too. Yet the water was nearly boiling. That meant that whoever had left the notes had only just left. 

Or that they hadn’t. 

Asami thought again about how she'd imagined no one could hide in her room. But she hadn’t really checked, had she? Besides, she’d only checked a few rooms of the house, the ones she used most frequently. But like all of Hiroshi Sato’s properties, the townhouse was fairly extensive. If someone really wanted to conceal themselves, it wouldn’t be hard. Not at all. 

She examined the note again. It said to take her time. Clearly it meant that she should take a bath. Champagne, chocolate, rose petals, a perfumed bath, and a red silk robe. If that wasn’t a seduction Asami didn’t know what was. And she’d be damned if she was going to play along with it anymore. It had gone from unsettling to interesting to downright creepy. She thought again about calling Iameh, or maybe even Mako down at the station. Then she read the note again. There was something Asami was meant to find, and for some reason the idea of having the United Forces or the Republic City police find it first bothered her. She had the smacker, and wasn’t dumb enough to walk into a potentially dangerous situation half drunk in nothing but a red silk bathrobe. Besides, there was still the handwriting. 

_The first of love, the end of downcast,_ she thought. This sounded a bit like a riddle she’d heard before. That one hadn’t been imagery at all, but about the language itself. She decided to start there. _The first of love. That would be “l” or “lo.” And the end of downcast would be “t” or “cast.” So… lot, locast or locust, last, something like that._ Asami looked at the next line. That didn’t seem to be a real part of the clue, just something added to keep up the rhyme scheme. The third line, “closing of bridegroom,” was probably similar to the first. _“Groom,” “room,” or “m,”_ she thought. _Lot groom. Locust is out. Lot room. Lost groom? Last room?_ She skipped ahead to the last line. _Open the one that’s the triple of left._ If it really was “last room,” open probably meant a door. Triple of left could mean third door on the left, but there were four doors on each side on this floor, which would mean the third door wasn’t the last. _Left, left, left,_ she mused. Then she got it. Taking three lefts wasn’t left at all. It was right.

_Last room on the right._

Asami ran out of the bathroom, then made herself slow down. She walked as quietly as she could to the end of the hallway, then put her hand on the knob of the very last room on the right. It was a guest bedroom, one of four in the townhouse and rarely used. Anyone who knew her well would know this would be about the last place in the house she’d stumble on accidentally. 

She took a deep breath and turned the knob. 

Iroh sat in a maroon wingback chair opposite the door, legs crossed, a fat book propped open on one knee. He wore a plain white t-shirt and jeans, his black hair combed neatly back, the thin gray reading glasses he used more and more these days balanced on the end of his nose. He looked up sharply as she came in, then broke into a smile. He slammed the book shut and jumped to his feet, then looked her up and down and frowned slightly.

“You didn’t get it?” he asked. 

Asami launched herself at him. She didn’t know if she wanted to yell or cry or hit him or all three but by the time he folded her in his arms she was kissing him with everything she had. He hugged her fiercely and swung her in a quick circle as he responded, practically devouring her in what seemed like all three months’ worth of missing kisses. Usually Iroh was slow and deliberate, building a kiss from something soft and gentle to deep and passionate, but the time apart had seemingly broken down all restraint. These were wild, breathless kisses and they were everywhere; her lips, her closed eyelids, the end of her nose, the line of her jaw, the hollow of her throat. Asami felt covered in him, even as her mouth searched hungrily for more of his warm bare skin, needing to taste him and and feel him just to make sure he was real. 

She flung the electric smacker to the floor, then ran her hands up his arms and into his hair. The back of her knees hit the edge of the bed. Iroh pushed her down onto a soft quilt covered in rose petals. She could smell him as he pressed into her, a faint breath of cologne over fresh soap and the good scent that was just him. The smell of home. Iroh’s reading glasses slid into her nose and he laughed, pulling them off and tossing them back onto the chair. Then he looked down at her, his face glowing with a mixture of delight and desire. He reached one hand up to trace the line of her face, then brushed a loose strand of hair off her forehead.

“Hi,” he breathed. His deep golden eyes threatened to swallow her whole.

“You’re such an asshole,” she whispered back. But it all felt too good to be truly angry. She pushed herself up and kissed him again, this time going slowly, savoring the soft feel of him. He pressed back into her and started unbuttoning her blouse. 

“Less talk, more this,” he panted, sliding his hand inside her shirt. His rough, familiar fingertips wasted no time. “Do you know how hard it was to stay in here when you started yelling? I have been on a ship”—he reached around and unhooked her bra—“for three months”—he started peeling things off her, punctuating his words with deep kisses—“with no one but my spirit-forsaken _brothers_ for company. And though I like them just fine”—Iroh reached down and started fumbling with the zipper on the side of her skirt—“they are not”—he grabbed her waist and hoisted her farther up onto the bed—“remotely sexy.”

Asami reached down and undid the top of his jeans, then ran her hands up his sides as she peeled off his t-shirt. His pale, muscular chest was almost hot to the touch. A part of her still couldn’t believe it. Iroh, here, familiar and solid and burning and _here_. He placed a string of hot kisses down the side of her neck and kept going, covering her body in his mouth as he did things, delicious things, things that screamed “I missed you” louder than any words could have done. _Oh, spirits._ Yes, she could ask her questions later. For now, there were far more important things to do.

Suddenly Asami stopped. Iroh had been gone. She hadn’t expected him back for another month. They’d never been as careful as they probably should have been, but this time Asami knew she’d been lax about her pills. And there wasn’t anything here in the townhouse, either. Why would there be? 

Iroh pushed down her skirt and she decided she didn’t care. He was here, and so was she, and that was the only thing that mattered.

***

“I swear that I had a plan.”

“Of course you had a plan,” Asami laughed. She ran her fingers through his thick hair, just enjoying the texture. “It’s you. Sometimes I think the word plan is spelled I-R-O-H. What I don’t get is, what the hell kind of plan was it?”

“I wanted to make it interesting,” Iroh said. “I thought you’d like it.” He actually looked a little hurt.

She placed a gentle kiss on his mouth. Spirits how she’d missed that. Just regular, ordinary kissing. Not that there was anything ordinary about kissing Iroh, but still. “I did like it,” she said. “Or, I would have liked it if it hadn’t also scared the crap out of me. You were supposed to be gone for another month.”

“I missed you.” He said it matter of factly, but something in his face told her that wasn't the whole story. Iroh had never been a particularly good liar. He leaned back a little in the tub and pulled her close. She pushed a few bubbles up onto his chest and watched them slowly pop. “And it sounded like you were having a tough time back here. It happened to work out that I could cut my part of the tour a bit short and catch a ride back on Bumi’s ship. I thought, since it’s your birthday, it’d be fun to surprise you. I know you like surprises.”

“That’s sweet, really,” she said. She still didn’t think that was all of it, but she could get the rest of the story later. “And I’m so happy you’re home. But think of it from my perspective. I come back here and find rose petals and notes from someone I know is thousands of miles away. Notes that are inside the house, and that are clearly designed to get me in the mood to do exactly what we’ve been doing. You really expected me to eat cake in the bath when there might be some crazy stalker person posing as you hiding somewhere in the house?”

Iroh grimaced. “When you put it like that, no. I’m sorry. I never thought of it that way.” 

“You’ve never been a single woman living alone, I suppose.”

He frowned a little, as if the idea that Asami might be vulnerable without him had just crossed his mind. “No, I haven’t. Either of those, to be honest. I went from the palace to the various ships, and the ships to the apartment. Where”—he kissed her nose—“I wasn’t alone all that often. Honestly, it didn’t even occur to me that you’d find it anything but funny.”

“It’s okay,” Asami said, smiling. It was hard to remember being afraid curled next to Iroh in the bath. “They were good riddles. Actually, that’s the only reason I got as far as I did. Clever riddles in your handwriting made me think there was a good chance you were somehow behind it. If they’d been shitty riddles anyone could have written, I’d probably have called Mako straight off.”

Iroh chuckled. “It was a long ride back, and one can only hear Bumi’s stories so many times. You should see the outtakes though. Do you know how hard it is to rhyme words with ‘champagne?’ Or at least, pleasant words. It’s all brain, pain, stain, drain.”

“Speaking of,” Asami said. She picked up the single glass and took a sip, then tipped it in his direction.

He shook his head. “No thanks. But I happen to know someone who was deployed for three whole months without any chocolate cake.” Iroh raised his eyebrows. “Would you, um, be willing to share any of that?”

Asami giggled. She put the glass down, then filled the spoon with a big piece of cake. Iroh opened his mouth and she put the spoon in. As soon as he started chewing she rolled over in the water, straddling his thighs, careful not to start anything before he was ready. Then she kissed him. Her whole mouth filled with the taste of chocolate and Iroh.

“You realize I’m never letting you leave again, right?” she said finally, pulling away. “I don’t care what the Firelord says you owe the family.”

Iroh finally swallowed the cake, then grinned. “I’d watch that battle. But your objection is noted.”

Asami swirled her hands in the water a little. They’d been in here a while. “We should probably get out,” she said. “We should get some real food, and anyway the water is getting cold.”

“Is it now?” Iroh suddenly bent his knees, sending her sliding down his thighs. Asami yelped in surprise as she crashed into him, sloshing water and bubbles up onto the lip of the tub. She laughed and shifted a bit, now firmly in his lap under the water. So much for not starting anything. From the feel of things, it seemed like starting something was exactly what he had in mind. Iroh smirked, then rolled his wrist a little and stretched his fingers, filling his palm with dancing flames. “Just so happens I’ve got something for that.”


	3. IROH

_Five weeks ago..._

The sword flickered through the air, but Iroh barely saw it. He was concentrating on his feet. Master Haru said that sword fighting without proper footwork was like a building without a foundation. It might look the same on the outside, but you’d never rely on it not to kill you at a moment’s notice. Iroh, as with all weapons training, took this advice seriously. After all, it had saved his life more than once. Besides, it was no different with firebending. Stance was one of the first things he’d learned. Feet before fire, his mother had said, and she had been right. 

He was alone at the prow of the _Honorbound,_ the flagship of the Fire Nation fleet, in a roughly 10x10 area he’d cleared for practice. It was still early, and the freezing wind whipped at his exposed skin. Iroh had stripped down to nothing but an undershirt and sweatpants despite the weather, having found that it allowed him the kind of movement he needed for the workout. The metal deck was almost frozen beneath his bare feet. He was firebending as well, but just a little, not enough to make himself completely comfortable. He’d gotten over his seasickness during his first week on the water, but the cold air still felt good, especially as he started to work up a sweat. 

Iroh had spent the last few years working with Master Haru on the sword. If he was honest, it was more of a hobby than anything. While there was always more to practice, Iroh was an extremely advanced firebender, and had gotten to the point in his training where he was inventing his own techniques more often than learning from others. But he found he loved challenging, delicate things—for example, he was working on a way to lightning bend into a glass without breaking it—and, while incredibly interesting, those aspects of firebending were largely concentration. Enter, sword training. No one used swords anymore, not really, but Iroh thought they were, well, cool. One had saved his life a few years ago, too, even if all he’d done was hit someone with it in the scabbard. So he’d decided that it could be useful to expand his skills more seriously, even if it was mostly for fun. It was a good workout, mentally as well as physically, and it had been nice to be a student again. Iroh always felt a little lost when he had nothing to work at.

It was also a good distraction. He turned slowly, trying to keep his sword perfectly straight while smoothly shifting his feet to the next stance. As he moved, his left foot crunched slightly against the charred remains of several pieces of paper. The prow of the _Honorbound_ was also an excellent place to burn letters.

There were two kinds of letters. Iroh wrote a letter home every day. Not because he had to; at first, he’d actually been a little embarrassed by how much he wanted to write. But more letters to Asami meant more letters _from_ Asami, and he’d quickly fallen into the habit of writing one every evening. He’d write about his day, what they’d done or who they’d met, and say that he missed her. Iroh had never felt great at expressing himself, but Asami didn’t seem to mind, and returned his heartfelt, if rather mundane missives with what felt like genuine interest, along with the typical updates and anecdotes from home. Sometimes she’d include a photo, or a drawing of some new idea. Iroh kept every letter, stuffed in the bottom of his trunk like so much treasure. 

Then there were the other kind of letters. The kind he wrote late at night when he couldn’t sleep. Letters of awkward, burning passion that he’d die before he’d ever send. Iroh was no poet. He knew they were terrible, and burned them first thing in the morning. But sometimes getting it out of him helped a little all the same. 

Two and a half months was a very long time.

Eventually Iroh picked up the pace, easing from slow, deliberate movements into something faster, more aggressive. In reality it was the same series of sword forms as before, just with different emphasis. He did it four times; once for warm up, once for form, once for strength, and once for speed. As he finished the last progression the sword became a blur, slicing through the frigid air in sharp, clean lines. When Iroh finished, he was smiling. He was getting good. He was far from a master, but one side effect of the trip had been the ability to practice nearly every day instead of only twice a week. 

He carefully sheathed the sword and placed it next to his shirt on the deck. Then he stood and braced his arms against the railing. The sea was calm, the color of tempered steel. In the distance a few small icebergs poked their white tops above the gentle swell. Iroh pushed his sweaty hair out of his eyes and let the cold air hit him full-on. Like most firebenders, he’d always run a bit hot. Of course, thinking of being hot also made him think of other things. How nice it might be to jump in the pool back at the estate, and who with. Or the feel of cool fingers against his neck. She’d once taken an ice cube and...

“What are you looking at?”

“What?” The voice shook Iroh out of his thoughts, which had started to stray to some rather unhelpful areas. He glanced behind him to see Kazai walking up the deck.

“I asked what you’re looking at,” his brother said. He gazed out over the slate-colored water. “I don’t see anything.” 

“Oh. I wasn’t looking at anything. Just thinking.” Iroh looked down and used one foot to grind the remainder of the ashes into the deck. He didn’t want to think what would happen if his brother ever got his hands on a burning letter.

Kazai propped one foot up on the railing and chuckled. “Figures.”

Iroh regarded him silently. He and Kazai looked a lot alike. Not quite as alike as Desna and Eska, whom they'd just visited at the North Pole, but it couldn’t have been more obvious that they were brothers. They were both tall and rectangular, with long legs and angular features. Kazai didn’t work out with the same dedication as Iroh did, but they had Izumi's slim build and with their clothes on the difference was negligible. They each had the same deep golden eyes, pale skin, broad smile, and thick black hair—though Kazai wore his down past his ears these days. His brother was five years older, too, and had a pointier chin and nose, a wider mouth, and not quite so much in the way of eyebrows. Still, the differences were minor. Sometimes Iroh felt like he was looking in a slightly distorted mirror. 

However, looks were where their similarities ended. Where Iroh was reserved and private, Kazai was open and boisterous, even aggressive. He was also endlessly charming; often the life of the party, if not the reason for it in the first place. Iroh, on the other hand, was often awkward in social situations, and had always found large events or meeting new people draining. While they had both had the best masters growing up, Iroh had been, if not a scholar, at least diligent and curious, and his interests in people and places, history, geography, and the natural world had survived well beyond his teenage years, as had his personal discipline. But Kazai was like a flutterbat, seemingly into everything and nothing at the same time. He was bright, there was no doubt about that, but his interests and hobbies changed constantly. The brothers were both naturally athletic as well, but the same principle applied. Iroh liked goals, working hard at one technique until he mastered it. Kazai was impatient and liked variety. Over the years he had gone through phases of everything from iaido to archery. In Iroh’s opinion he’d learn just enough to impress a date, then move on—with the hobby, as well as the date. That last one was, perhaps, the biggest difference between them. Iroh loved rarely, but deeply, and with his whole heart and more besides. Kazai seemingly loved everyone, and everyone loved Kazai.

This was an area that had given Iroh a lot of concern of late.

“You don’t like being here, do you?” Kazai said eventually. 

“I never said that.”

“You don’t have to.” He pushed his foot off the railing, then turned and leaned against it. Being physically twitchy when bored was another thing he and Iroh shared. “You’re out here, aren’t you? This was supposed to be fun. Men of the Fire Nation bonding, taking the world by storm. Instead you’re all alone, freezing your ass off, staring into space like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

“That’s not what I was doing,” Iroh said. He’d just wanted a little quiet is all.

Kazai sighed heavily. “I’d have thought this would be just your thing. Ride a boat, see the world, be important. It’s why you left, isn’t it?” 

“Ship,” said Iroh without thinking. “And that’s not why I joined up.” He frowned at his brother. “Be important? Is that really what you think?”

Kazai shrugged. “Sure. You’re the runt. I mean, not counting Tai. I’m going to be Firelord, Matsu is backup. I suppose you could have been High Fire Sage one day, or general of the Fire Nation army, but all of that would still report to me. United Forces was the only thing legit that could get you out.”

“What makes you think I’d have an issue reporting to you?” Iroh asked, trying to ignore the subtle dig. He might be the Firelord’s youngest son, but it had been a long time since he’d been the quiet, skinny kid his brothers had chased all over the palace. Spirits, he had three or four inches on Matsu now, and maybe 30lbs on Kaz, all of it muscle. 

Kazai shot him a skeptical look. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That I know I-mom asked you to babysit.”

“What happened to ‘men of the Fire Nation bonding?’”

“Don’t give me that, Iroh. You disapprove. I know you do.”

Iroh squeezed the railing, trying not to let his frustration show. He loved Kaz, he really did. But sometimes he didn’t understand him at all. He had a beautiful, kind wife who loved him, two adorable, healthy baby boys. He was going to be Firelord one day, and if this tour was any indication that day might come relatively soon. Iroh wasn’t envious of that last part, but he knew Kazai wanted it. In the meantime he was still a prince, and had virtually everything he’d ever want at his fingertips. Was it so much to ask that someone who had been given so much in life take a little responsibility? 

“It’s not babysitting, Kaz,” he said finally. “You’ll need to know the other world leaders well in order to step in as Firelord. I happen to already have those relationships for other reasons, and I-mom thought it would be nice to have me along. That’s all. And it’s been good for me, too. I admit I’ve missed traveling, and it was nice to finally meet Chief Desna in person.” 

“If it’s so good for you, why are you up here moping?”

Iroh pushed off the railing, then ran one hand through his windblown hair. “I’m not moping,” he said. “But you know me, Kaz. All this”—he waved his arm around the ship—“it’s not me at all. The ceremonies and gifts, the parties and balls. Being paraded around in those ridiculous official outfits like a tigerdillo on a gold leash. I realize this isn’t about me, that it’s your tour and I’m just the entourage, but I’m exhausted. I miss home. I’ve never been away this long, not since Asami and I got serious. I just needed something quiet to focus on, that’s all. I find it helps.” 

“Ah,” Kazai said. He smiled a little, the same lopsided smile that Iroh had, and yet also somehow not. “I think I see the problem.”

“I somehow doubt it. You and Mat seem to be having the time of your lives.”

“Of course we are.” His brother threw up his hands, as if suddenly annoyed. “We’re seeing the world! Going new places, meeting new people, galas and balls in our honor at every turn. And the only person who isn’t enjoying it is you because you’ve already met all the boring people and you’re too damned scared of everyone else.”

Iroh reached up and rubbed at his face, trying not to be angry. The thing with siblings was, they always knew how to say exactly the thing that would hurt you the most, even if they didn’t mean to. Or maybe even if they did. 

“You realize this isn’t really seeing the world, Kaz, right?” he said eventually. He pushed his hair back again, then rubbed the back of his head, more bothered than he wanted to let on. “Not everywhere is a banquet and a red carpet. In fact, most aren’t. The best times I’ve had in the Forces weren’t when I was invited to the palace. They were when I managed to get a few hours to myself and really see a place. Eat the food, watch the people. Get lost a bit. What we’re doing is important for the Fire Nation, and it’s important for you. And it’s been great spending some quality time with you and Mat, honest. That’s why I’m here. But you’re right, it’s not fun, at least not for me, because it’s not real.”

To his surprise, rather than being angry, Kazai smiled, the little half-smile that wasn’t quite Iroh’s. “That, right there, is your problem. Fun.”

“I don’t follow.”

“It’s not that the trip isn’t fun. It’s that you don’t know how to have fun on a trip like this.”

“I’m not sure we have the same idea of fun, Kaz.”

“No, no. Nothing like that.” He apparently didn’t feel the need to say what “like that” was. “Look, we’ll be in Ba Sing Se tomorrow night. I don’t meet the Earth Queen until the following morning though. So we’ll go out. Just the three of us, you me and Matsu. No advisors, no retainers, no diplomats.” He held up his hands as Iroh opened his mouth. “And nothing crazy, I promise. Just brothers. Bonding.”

“I don’t know,” Iroh said slowly. “What about security?”

“You’re the fucking General of the United Forces. You telling me you need a guard?”

“I wasn’t talking about me.” 

“Come on. We’ll do exactly what you say. Go incognito. Eat food. Meet locals. No one will bother us. Trust me. It’ll be fun.”

***

Iroh knocked at the door to the Crown Prince’s quarters promptly at 20:00. Not being given any instructions beyond where and when to meet, but understanding that their evening was not official business, he’d donned his crimson and white United Forces uniform. When in doubt, go for versatility. There were few places in the capital where a man in uniform wouldn’t be welcome, and even fewer where they’d give him any trouble. 

“You may enter the prince’s presence!” Matsu yelled in what was probably the most pompous voice he could muster. Iroh smiled a little. His middle brother was having entirely too much fun with this whole “Kazai as Firelord in training” bit. Iroh turned the knob and was immediately hit in the stomach with something large and soft. 

He caught it out of sheer reflex. It proved to be a bundle of cloth tied with a gold ribbon. Iroh looked up to see Kazai wearing… what _was_ he wearing? It was a long, rust-colored outfit that looked like a cross between a robe and a dress, cinched tight at the waist with a golden belt. It reached almost down to his knees. Underneath, he wore a pair of loose-fitting brown pants that pulled tight at the ankles, followed by soft brown leather boots. 

“That’s yours,” Kazai said, nodding to Iroh’s own bundle. Iroh pulled on the end of the ribbon. Out fell a loose pair of mint green trousers, a wide-sleeved shirt of the same color, and an emerald tunic trimmed with gold. 

“Are you serious?”

“Completely,” called Matsu. He walked out of the bathroom wearing a similar outfit in various shades of olive. His shoulder-length brown hair was swept back in a blunt topknot. “You said blend with the locals, right? That’s what we’re doing.”

Whereas Kazai and Iroh looked very much alike, Matsu was another matter altogether. His coloring was much like Honora’s; both skin and eyes a bit darker than his brothers’, and his hair much lighter. He had a rounded, pleasant face and a broad build, a bit like Bolin. Mat had been a tad on the chubby side as a child, but what had once been a few extra pounds had settled into a solidness that Iroh thought suited him. So did the olive tunic he’d chosen. Iroh got the distinct impression he himself had been given last choice on the outfits. 

He looked down again at the cloth in his hands. The emerald tunic wasn’t so bad, especially since Iroh was tall enough it wouldn’t look like a dress, but the mint green shirt and pants reminded him too much of the hospital gowns as the Zaofu healing center. He’s spent far more time in that particular shade of green than he’d ever wanted to, and none of it pleasant.

“Just put it on, Ro Ro,” said Matsu. “You’re making us late.”

Iroh sighed and started unbuttoning his uniform.


	4. ASAMI

Iroh pushed open the enormous carved wooden door and stepped back, holding it open with one arm. Asami didn’t let anyone else hold doors for her if she could help it, but he liked doing that sort of thing, and over the years she had decided it was cute rather than annoying. At least it was cute when Iroh did it, because Iroh was cute. Could you still call a man who was almost 30 “cute?” Asami looked him up and down as she passed, tall and straight, his thick brows and strong jaw offset by a slightly rounded nose and expressive golden eyes. Iroh smiled at her, looking a tiny bit puzzled. She’d probably been staring. She licked the corner of her mouth and he blushed a little. Yep. _Definitely_ cute.

The inside of the restaurant was shockingly warm and humid after the frosty air outside. Unfortunately, it seemed like the current cold snap was only getting worse. They’d decided to walk, the restaurant only being about eight blocks from the apartment, but the wind had picked up since the day before and it had been cold going, even with Iroh firebending into his hands. He hadn’t managed to convince her not to wear heels, not tonight, but he’d held her hand the whole way, walking close just in case she slipped. Asami would be lying if she said that hadn’t been a tiny bit on purpose. After all, he’d only been back a day.

They were met inside by a short man in a long brown robe and matching round hat. He stood at a thin podium, a large book balanced on top. 

“Welcome to Dadar,” he said, bowing to them, “an authentic Northern Earth Kingdom experience.” Asami gave him her name, which he checked against the book behind the podium. “Ah yes, princess, of course. Right this way.” Asami shifted a little at that. She still wasn’t used to the title. 

A young woman in similar garb took their coats, offering an orange numbered tag in exchange, which Iroh pocketed. Then they followed the short man back into the restaurant. Asami had donned a jade green dress for the occasion, something new she’d splurged on during a low point the previous week. She’d realized she wore an awful lot of red and gray and purple and was trying to branch out. It had thin straps, a high waist and a long, gauzy skirt with a slit in the side that was about as high as could reasonably be considered decent. She knew it looked good, and was all the more grateful that Iroh was actually here to appreciate it. It just wasn’t the same with friends. Iroh, for his part, had opened his dark red coat to reveal a crisp blue suit. He’d spent quite a bit of money on new clothes during a few months he’d technically been out of the United Forces, and though he still wore his scarlet uniform for most formal occasions he’d stubbornly kept the suits in his regular rotation. “I’ve spent the last three months dressing like a fire prince,” he’d said earlier, knotting a soft gray tie carefully in the mirror. “And a stuffy one at that. Definitely time for a change.” Asami didn’t mind in the slightest. Iroh knew how to dress, and besides he looked good in everything. 

He took her arm again as they passed through the first main dining room. Hardly anyone even noticed them. She and Iroh turned very few heads these days despite their positions, having been a steady fixture in Republic City for some time. Old news. Or maybe just old. After all, she wasn’t the 19-year-old girl she’d been when they first started dating. That seemed almost impossibly young now. What were 19-year-olds even doing dating? Then again, Iroh had been her age at the time. What had he been thinking? She glanced over at him and he pointedly looked her up and down, raising his eyebrows ever so slightly, giving her a taste of her own medicine, and she felt a faint heat rise to her face. It seemed like whatever he’d been thinking at 24, he was still thinking it, and so much the better for her.

They followed the man in the brown robes through a curved white archway into a second room rippling with soft blue light. Here, the tables and chairs had been set up on the crisscrossed tile around a square central pool. Palm trees and fragrant flowers were scattered throughout, giving the back room of Dadar the feeling of some kind of outdoor resort. There were comparatively few diners back here, with plenty of space between tables, making it a quieter and more intimate option than the front room. There was a price tag to that, of course, but Asami didn’t mind. It had seemed well-worth the expense when she’d been throwing herself little more than a pity party, and now that Iroh was home it was just as good for a celebration.

“Asami!” Someone waved by the far wall. “And… holy shit!” The back of the quiet room suddenly exploded into cheers.

“Hey!”

“Dude! No way!”

“Fireball!”

“You’re back!”

“Look what I got for my birthday,” Asami said, laughing and dragging Iroh towards the table by the arm. He was clearly pleased, but seemed a little uncomfortable with all of the attention. She pulled him down and gave him a kiss on the cheek anyway. “I’m sorry, I already unwrapped it, but I couldn’t wait.” Iroh colored a little, but he was smiling.

Seated around a round table against the far wall were the people she’d invited to her birthday party. Asami hadn’t been in the mood for much when she’d made the reservation, so she’d kept it smaller than usual. Korra beamed up at her, her bright blue eyes laughing in her dark face. She’d done her hair up in an uncharacteristic formal fashion, with a tight bun in the back and her two front tails loose around her face. Mako sat next to her in a brown suit and red tie, thankfully looking more relaxed than he usually did dressed up. They’d had more than one tiff about what he considered “dressed up” back when they’d been dating. Next to him sat Bolin. Asami often thought the two brothers couldn’t look more different. Mako looked a bit like Iroh, actually, though with a thinner face, darker eyes, and broader shoulders. Bolin, on the other hand, was shorter and stockier, with huge green eyes, wavy brown hair, and a ready smile. Unlike Mako, Bolin liked dressing up, though his taste was a little more ostentatious than someone like Iroh. Tonight he’d donned a suit of what looked like deep green velour over a light gold shirt. He’d also done something different with his hair. Pointier in the back, somehow. Either that, or Opal had been messing with it. Opal herself sat to Bolin’s left, her wide green eyes peering out from underneath her dark bangs. Her dress was a similar color as Asami’s, but quite a bit more conservative, with a high neck and wide half sleeves. And next to Opal, was…

Asami stopped. Why was there someone next to Opal? 

“I hope you don’t mind,” Opal said quickly, as if reading her thoughts. “I called ahead and they said they could add another place no problem. You remember my sister, Kuvira? She was in town on short notice and I hoped she could join us.”

Asami nodded at the woman next to Opal. Like Bolin and Mako, she looked little like her sister, though from what Asami understood Kuvira and Opal weren’t actually related. Where Opal was slight and cute, with a round, friendly face, Kuvira was muscular, with thick brows and a sharp chin, all hard edges. She wore her dark hair swept back into a tight braid and was wearing a rather severe gray collared jacket. Asami recognized her now though. They’d met once or twice when she’d stayed a few months in Zaofu, though at the time she’d been wearing her guard’s uniform. But that had been more than three years ago. Between the peace talks and Iroh’s recovery, Asami hadn’t had a lot of mental space for new acquaintances.

“Of course,” she said brightly, trying to take the unexpected change in stride. After all, there was no reason not to include Opal's sister, even if a heads up would have been nice. “Glad you could come, Kuvira, and good to see you again.” 

“Nice to see you too, Ms. Sato,” Kuvira said. “Thank you for letting me join.”

“No problem. And please, Asami.” She turned to Iroh, about to introduce him—he’d still been in the healing center when she’d met Kuvira the last time—but found him looking at Opal’s sister with a strange, almost guilty expression on his face.

“Hi,” Iroh said awkwardly. “I’m, um, Iroh?” He made it sound almost like a question. What had gotten into him? Iroh had never been particularly smooth with new people, but this was uncomfortable even for him.

“Iroh,” Kuvira said slowly, as if trying out the word in her mouth. “General Iroh.” Iroh nodded stiffly. Her lips curled into a little smile, as if remembering something. “United Forces. Of course. And this is your…”

“Wife, yes,” Iroh said. He cleared his throat a little. “I’ll, uh, go get another chair.”

Korra laughed. “Don’t be stupid, Fireball. If there aren’t enough chairs Asami will sit on your lap. She probably wants to, anyway.”

But Iroh was already gone. 

What was _that_ about?

***

“So what brings you to town?” Asami asked. She’d wound up seated next to Kuvira at dinner, the extra place (extra extra place, she supposed; she’d also called ahead, and the restaurant had likely confused two separate requests to add a seat as the same) having been set between her and Korra. 

“I’m here at the request of President Osion,” she said. She had a low, almost purring voice. 

“The old colossus herself,” said Asami with a grin. “I hope you brought your armor.”

“I’m afraid I can’t talk about it,” Kuvira said. She didn’t return Asami’s smile. 

“Of course.” _Tough crowd._ She took another bite of tagine. It was excellent. Clearly all the hype about Dadar had been true. As she did she looked carefully at Kuvira, wanting to ask the question on the tip of her tongue, the one that had been plaguing her all evening. It had seemed clear that Iroh knew Kuvira, and equally clear that he wasn’t excited about acknowledging that fact. Asami supposed it made sense they could have met. They were in the same line of work, broadly speaking, and Iroh had traveled extensively in the United Forces before landing the more stable position as head of Republic City Central Command. He'd also just spent several months with the Crown Prince meeting the leaders of the major nations, though she hadn't heard of a trip to Zaofu. But whatever it was, why not just say it?

“Are you still with the guard?” Asami asked instead. _Chicken. Just ask her._

“Captain, now.”

“What comes after captain?”

“Nothing. Captain is the top.”

“I’m in a bit of the same boat,” Asami said, hoping maybe building some rapport would help her break the ice. “I’ve been president of Future Industries for six years now. I love it, but—” 

“No, you can’t,” said a loud voice to her right. Asami looked over to see Korra looking skeptically at Iroh. 

“Yes, I can,” he said calmly. 

“Bullshit,” said Mako. 

“Do I sound like I’m lying?”

“But I’m the most powerful bender—”

“And power isn’t everything, Korra. Some things take practice. Practice, and focus. This is one of them. It took me years. I honestly think you could both learn it, if you took the time, but it does take time. Even for the Avatar.”

Korra narrowed her eyes. “All right, hot shot. Prove it.” Tiny alarm bells started going off in the back of her mind. Why had she let all of the firebenders sit together?

Iroh’s eyes widened. He leaned back a little. “What, here?”

Korra drained her drink, then waved her right hand over the glass and gathered up all of the remaining moisture, which she bent into her napkin. She shoved the glass in front of Iroh. “Put up or shut up, Fireball.” He looked helplessly at the empty glass, then sighed and shoved his cuffs a little up his forearms so he had full use of his wrists.

Asami turned back to Kuvira. “Excuse me. I might need to keep my eye on this.” She glanced around. “Have you seen a fire extinguisher?”

***

“Iroh?”

“Hmm?” He sounded mostly asleep already. Asami was the night owl of the two of them, and he’d put quite a bit of, er, energy into the end of her birthday celebrations. Most of his carefully pressed suit was probably still in the kitchen, her new green dress puddled on the floor of the hall. He lay stretched out next to her, not even under a blanket, all long and lean and radiating the heat she’d sorely missed on all those cold nights. She snuggled closer and wrapped one arm around Iroh’s chest, pressing her face against his arm. He made a little contented noise, somewhere between a hum and a sigh. She could just let him sleep. 

Still, the question from earlier nagged at her. She had to know. And besides, she and Iroh had figured out the hard way that keeping secrets usually made things worse.

“How do you know Kuvira?” she asked finally.

“Hmm. Obvious?”

“Yeah.”

“All right.” He sounded a little more awake now. Iroh shifted, then rolled over, his pale face barely visible in the dark. “Zaofu. First time. When I got…” he trailed off and instead looked down at the short, horizontal scar slashed across the bottom of his ribs. “Was there a while. We went on a date. Wasn’t even sure she remembered me.”

“Oh.” That had been over a decade ago. All of a sudden Asami felt rather silly.

“Cute when you’re jealous,” Iroh mumbled. 

“I am not jealous.”

“Mmm, sure.” He pulled her into a sleepy kiss, then tucked her under his chin and wrapped his arm around her back. “What’s she here for? We didn’t talk.”

“Don’t know. Something with Osion.”

“Hmm. What’s the Zaofu guard doing with her?”

“No idea.”

A long pause. “I can sleep now?”

Asami chuckled. “Yes. Curiosity satisfied. Go to sleep.”

Iroh leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Happy birthday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wait, Iroh and Asami got married? When?? A glimpse of the wedding is in the short companion piece, "Live a Little," which takes place between the end of "Glass" and the beginning of "Firestorm." If you're interested, it's here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25808725/chapters/62691322


	5. IROH

“What, out of breath, old man?” Bolin said next to him. It didn’t even look like he was breathing hard. Bastard.

Iroh slowed to an easy jog, gasping. Spirits, he was out of shape. At least running shape. Everything he could do on a ship—weight lifting, sword practice, firebending—he mostly did to build skills, keep in shape, or simply to burn off the excess energy he had while cooped up on board. But running, running is what Iroh did for himself, simply for the quiet joy of it. Unfortunately, nothing he could do on a ship was a good substitute for just pounding the pavement. He’d done a few short runs over the week, just trying to ease back into things, but this was the first serious effort he’d made and he was beat. Unfortunately, he also had an audience.

Bolin flashed him a shiteating grin. He'd apparently kept up their running routine the whole time he'd been gone, and it showed. Iroh glared at him. “Careful,” he panted. “Still kick your ass. One hand behind my back.”

Bolin laughed. “How about I save your pride and take your word on that?” They eased into a steady lope, their breath puffing out in front of them in frosty clouds as they covered the last cool-down mile back to the apartment. When Bolin had first asked to join Iroh sometimes on his morning runs, he’d been completely hopeless. Now, more than four years later, Iroh was forced to admit that the younger man could match him easily. He liked to think that if it really came down to it he still had the edge in both speed and stamina, or would once he got a few more runs under his belt, but spirits it was close. And as his friend had so cruelly pointed out, he wasn’t getting any younger. 

“So,” Iroh said, trying not to sound too out of breath, “speaking of being old, I remember something you asked me a long time ago. Now I’m going to ask you.”

Bolin gave him a puzzled look. “Okay,” he said slowly.

“When are you going to ask her?” The other man flushed. Unlike Iroh at the time, Bolin knew exactly what he was asking. Iroh laughed a little. “I’m guessing based on your face that you’ve thought about it?”

“Only all the damned time,” Bolin sighed. “It’s so much pressure!”

“You know, if you need help being a hopeless romantic, I know a guy who owes you.”

Bolin smiled at that, then grimaced. “But seriously, I. You don’t know the pain! I still can’t believe you got away with it the way you did. Girls have so many expectations! And Opal is just so amazing. She deserves fireworks and music, a whole band, and then maybe a cage full of doves or something that get released in front of the fountain—there should definitely be a fountain—and is she going to want her family there? Do I ask her parents? What if they say no? What if there’s some kind of test, like you have to metalbend or something, and then I have to go find some kind of guru in the mountains because I never learned and—”

“Is there a chance that you’re overthinking this?”

“—and don’t even get me started on rings, there are _thousands_ of rings out there, _millions_ of rings, I, and how are you supposed to know the exact perfect one that she’s going to like better than all the rest? It’s—”

 _“Bolin.”_ He cut off, looking to Iroh a drowning man on his last breath. Ah, but he’d been there. “She’s saying yes to you. Not the ring, and certainly not the proposal. Just be yourself. I know Opal. That’s all she really wants.”

“So, you’re saying that asking Asami to marry you by the side of the road in the rain with no ring next to a box of take-out was just you being yourself?”

Hmm. The man had a point. Part of him still couldn’t believe he’d done it that way, or that Asami had knocked him into her sato and murmured “yes” against his mouth until he couldn’t breathe instead of telling him to go back and try again. “It had stopped raining,” Iroh said. “But okay. Perhaps a _tiny_ bit of planning is a good idea.”

They slowed to a walk a few blocks from the apartment. Iroh was still breathing harder than he thought was dignified but, if he was going to bring it up, it should be now.

“Bolin,” he said carefully, “may I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“What did I miss? I mean, really.”

Bolin nodded at him. “You don’t cut short your first and only royal tour on behalf of the Firelord lightly, do you?”

“No.” Iroh was glad he didn’t have to explain. Bolin had always been very perceptive. It was one of the things he liked most about him. “The truth is, I was worried. I have no doubt that Asami can take care of herself. She always could. And of course I missed her.” How much, he’d probably never tell anyone. “But between the trouble at Future Industries and whatever this thing with Osion is I thought she could… I don’t know.” He shook his head, unsure of exactly how to put the feeling he’d had during their last few conversations, or reading between the lines of her letters. 

“Use a hug?”

“I thought she might need me,” he said finally. “She sounded so defeated. But now that I’m back, I’m not entirely sure what to do. I have my standing meeting with the president later this morning and I was wondering if there’s anything else you can tell me. Something Asami might not.”

Bolin shook his head. “I wish I could help you. But Asami would tell you stuff before me. All I’ve got is a feeling.”

“What kind of feeling?”

“A President Raiko feeling.”

Iroh quirked an eyebrow. “What’s a President Raiko feeling?”

“It’s what she sounds like,” Bolin said. “When she talks about Osion. She has this tone in her voice. And it sounds exactly like how you used to sound talking about Raiko, especially near the end. Like, it wasn’t just that you couldn’t stand the guy. That much was obvious. It was that it had gotten personal. Asami sounds like that.”

“Hmm,” Iroh said, thinking. It was something, at any rate. “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

***

Two hours later Iroh knocked at the door to what he still thought of, deep down, as Raiko’s office. It hadn’t been President Raiko’s office for two years, but for some reason the name had stuck in his mind. Perhaps because “Osion’s office” was too alliterative. He made a mental note, not his first, to work on that. Iroh had the distinct impression that accidentally calling it “Raiko’s office” in front of President Osion would be a bad idea.

“Come in,” called a crisp voice. 

He waited a beat, then pushed in the door. Raiko’s office— _Osion’s_ office—had changed quite a bit from the previous occupant. Instead of looking like a knock-off throne room, the large top-floor suite in City Hall now resembled a modern executive’s office. The enormous desk and overstuffed chairs had been replaced with a sleek desk of dark cherry, two pale wooden chairs for visitors, and, over by the window, a long, cream-colored couch and black glass coffee table for longer or less formal conversations. The thick velvet curtains were still there, but pushed back as far as possible to let slanted morning light through the floor-to-ceiling windows. One of the windows was even open a little to let in a soft breeze. Off to the right, an ornate tea set sat upon a long, low wooden cabinet. It wasn’t all precisely Iroh’s taste, but the effect was far from unpleasant. 

He strode forwards and stopped a few feet from the desk, then bowed slightly to the woman behind it. President Osion was in her late middle years, her wiry brown hair liberally streaked with gray. She wore it back, as usual, today held in a neat twist with a plain ochre clip. She had a long, square-jawed face, her hazel skin almost perfectly smooth despite her years. This morning she wore a long, high-collared robe of pale blue buttoned all the way up to her chin and fastened with some kind of cobalt jewel. The president had made much of her humble origins during her campaign, but Iroh had no doubts it was genuine. Growing up in a palace gives you an eye for that sort of thing.

“Good morning, General Iroh,” said President Osion. She knit her fingers together on top of the desk, giving him her full attention. The faded blue eyes now examining him were the color of glacial meltwater. She might be smiling, but if the eyes were the windows to the soul, Iroh was pretty sure it was glacial meltwater all the way down. She hadn't won the top spot by being soft.

“Good morning, Madam President,” he returned. They’d never gotten around to first names despite seeing each other several times a week. 

She gestured to one of the chairs, and he sat. “Welcome back. I didn’t expect you in Republic City until after the New Year. I trust everything is well?”

“Perfectly,” he replied. “I had some personal business to attend to here at home, and Crown Prince Kazai was kind enough to admit that I wasn’t strictly necessary for the last leg. I know Chief Tonraq well enough already, and I think it’s important that the Crown Prince develop his own relationship with the Water Tribes.” He smiled a little and added, “Master Katara might have me murdered, but I’m hoping she’ll get over it.”

Osion looked puzzled. “Why would Avatar Aang’s widow care if you came to the South Pole or not? You are what, fifth in line now?” 

“More or less.” In reality it was a bit more complicated than that, but “more or less” was sufficient for early morning banter. Iroh also wasn’t quite sure how to explain his relationship with Katara to a relative stranger. He knew as well as anyone that most parents had favorites, even when they loved all of their children deeply. Kazai was Honora’s favorite; Tai, Izumi’s and grandma Mai’s both. His grandfather Zuko had always had a special bond with Matsu, both of them sharing the same odd sense of humor. And Iroh, for whatever reason, knew he had always been Katara’s. She wasn’t family, not in the blood sense, but their families were so close it had hardly mattered. In any meaningful sense Katara was as much his grandmother as Mai was; Tenzin, Bumi, and Kya the aunts and uncles he’d never had. He wasn’t exactly sure why he and Katara got on so well. Maybe it was because she liked to make cookies and tell stories and he liked to eat them and listen. Perhaps she’d only felt bad for him because Iroh, quiet and serious, had been nobody else’s obvious favorite. Either way, it had nothing at all to do with the Fire Nation line of succession, and telling Katara he was dodging the end of the trip had been hard on both of them. He’d sworn he and Asami would make a much more unofficial visit in the new year, and meant it.

“Well,” said Osion, “at any rate, it is good to have you back, General. Monarchy _is_ a bit outdated, and traipsing around the world trying to train up your brother is hardly a good use of your talents. There’s plenty of real work to do here in the Republic, and your steady hand has been sorely missed.”

Iroh tried to keep a straight face. He’d never been comfortable with Osion’s complex “compliments.” It was better than Raiko’s constant, crude insults, but not by a whole lot. And the fact that she’d hit close to the mark in terms of the real purpose of the trip was even more uncomfortable.

“It is very good to be home,” he said steadily. 

“And this _is_ your home, isn’t it?” she asked. “You’ve mentioned coming home twice now, despite having just been in the Fire Nation.”

“It’s good to see my family,” Iroh said. “But yes. My home, my wife, and my life are here for the time being.”

“Ah. You’re wife.” Osion gave him a rather hard look. “Now that you mention it, that is one thing I wish to discuss with you.”

Iroh frowned a little. “All right. But don’t you see her later today?” As the Civilian Liaison, Asami had her own Friday standing meeting with Osion, same as any other senior staff member, even though her position was only part time.

“I do.” She paused, as if thinking. Finally, she said, “I find myself at a loss, General.”

“How so?”

“As you know, I was elected to this position on an agenda of _reform._ The people wanted change. They want to be modern, to live in a modern city, with modern ideals. I intend to honor that mandate. The United Republic is the finest country in the world. But no change comes without some sacrifices. In order to bring in the new, we must, how shall I say it, have out with the old. I had thought that, coming from a company like Future Industries, your wife would be an ally in this. But I’ve found over the last few months that she’s less interested in moving our city forward than I’d hoped.”

Iroh didn’t say anything at first. Asami had tons of plans for the city. A lot more than he did, though he did his best to enable them whenever he could. Transit improvements, continuing to relocate people away from areas made unsafe by spirit vines, reimagining some of un- or under-utilized industrial spaces down in the ID. In the absence of any immediate threat, her ideas, and the ideas that they came up with together, were a lot of what had made the RCCC such a success.

“I’m not quite sure what you mean,” he said eventually. “I find the RCCC Liaison's office to be the driving force of Republic City reform.”

President Osion gave him a tired smile, then waved one hand vaguely towards the open window. “Not all reform is progress, General. And some of your wife’s ideas aren’t progress. Subsidized housing complexes, expanding the satobus networks into areas that don’t generate enough revenue to even cover gas. It’s not sustainable. But I find she gets too emotional, too attached to projects that aren’t ever going to pay for themselves.” 

Too emotional? Asami? Iroh knew she felt things more deeply than it might appear, but he’d also be the first to admit that of the two of them he was the emotional one. Hadn’t he been the one scattering rose petals all over the townhouse last week? Yet President Osion had never called Iroh emotional, or anything close to it.

“Housing and transit are popular,” he replied. He wasn’t just defending Asami, either. These had been some of the few areas where they and President Raiko had been in full agreement. 

Osion shook her head. “New housing, high speed shipping, yes. But the rest? Those are old ideas that have outlived their usefulness. It’s been almost five years since the Avatar stopped UnaVaatu. The destruction from that battle has been largely repaired. Temporary support, _transitional_ support, is all well and good. But it’s time to focus on the Republic as a whole now. We need efficiency, effectiveness. Things that will be a credit to the original vision of Avatar Aang and your own grandfather, the culture and traditions they created just a generation ago. The United Republic is a place of equity, where prosperity can come to anyone willing to work for it. Buoying people along indefinitely does them no favors.”

Iroh leaned forwards, trying as hard as he could to stay polite in spite of his growing frustration. “If it’s what the people want from the city, and Republic City Central Command is best placed to carry it out, I’m not sure I understand the problem. We do good work here.”

“Most people don’t know _what_ they want,” Osion sighed. “We in government can’t simply chase every poll. That’s _why_ we have elected officials. People trust us to govern on their behalf. They elect us so that we can act for them, in their best interests. People want _leadership,_ General. Strong leadership. And that’s what I intend to give them. That’s what I owe them.”

Iroh moved to rub the bridge of his nose and stopped himself. Spirits, he was actually getting a headache. He’d always been a morning person, but this was entirely too much talking for him in one go, especially without any warning. He needed somewhere quiet and more time to think. A lot more. But he had to try. “With all due respect, Madam President,” he said slowly, “this is exactly why we have a Civilian Liaison. Ms. Sato, and her department, are supposed to be the people’s voice in the defense of Republic City. Over the years we’ve expanded the definition of defense, perhaps, but it’s all been driven by the city’s evolving needs. It can’t simply be the United Forces, or military defense.”

“Ah.” Osion knit her hands back together on the desk. “And here we come to the disagreement.”

Iroh only stared at her. She couldn’t be serious.

“After some consideration, I’m leaning towards eliminating the Civilian Liaison role. Reconstruction is over, General. Our resources are limited, and we need to direct them now to the areas that will most benefit the city and the country. The RCCC needs to slim down, to focus on what’s now fit for purpose. We need strong, efficient, decisive leaders. Leaders like you, General.”

“Ms. Sato,” he said coldly, “is a partner in everything I do. She always has been. At RC Command my leadership _is_ her leadership.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” said Osion. “But you are her husband. If you were to try to convince her to redirect her efforts in a more, say, productive direction, I might reconsider. Surely she will listen to you, will she not?”

“I like to think we listen to each other,” he said quietly, barely concealing his anger now. To be honest, he was past anger. Iroh was livid. Before he’d left on his trip, he’d thought of President Osion as a slightly pretentious but generally forward-thinking leader. Perhaps not terribly imaginative, but definitely someone they could work with. But if this is what Asami had been dealing with lately, no wonder her letters and phone calls had sounded so frustrated. It seemed that what Osion called “too emotional” might just be Asami legitimately furious at being patronized for doing her job.

“Still—” The president stopped as Iroh heard a small click behind him. He turned to see a young woman pop her head in the door. He didn’t recognize her, but her long black hair, pale skin, and golden eyes made it almost certain she was Fire Nation, at least by blood. Interesting. He’d have to introduce himself later. There weren’t a lot of Fire nationals in City Hall and, even if she was just as likely only someone with Fire Nation heritage like Mako, it couldn’t hurt to be on good terms with what appeared to be the president’s new secretary. They’d pulled more than one favor for him in the past.

“Yes?” Osion asked.

The woman bowed a little. “Excuse me, Madam President, but Secretary Dao-Lin is here.” 

Osion turned to Iroh. “My apologies, General, but that’s all the time I have today. Please think about what I’ve said, and have a pleasant weekend.”

“Madam President.” Iroh stood and turned to go, the conversation weighing heavily on him. No wonder Asami had been so stressed. She must have seen this coming. He'd have to check with Ren to see if she was free for lunch. He didn't want her blindsided during her own meeting this afternoon.

“All right, Joo Dee,” the president called behind him. “Please send him in.”


	6. MAKO

Mako sat at Tenzin’s long dining room table with everyone who wasn’t crazy. It was freezing out, and it seemed only Korra, Commander Bumi, Iroh, and people under the age of ten found any fun in running around outside. He took another sip of his beer as he watched them through the half-open window. He was almost cold just looking at them, though nobody outside seemed to mind in the slightest. 

“Yip yip!” yelled Rohan, his chubby fists full of Iroh’s hair. “Yip yip, fire man!” 

“You sure?”

“Yes!” Iroh stood quickly and Rohan squealed, suddenly finding himself more than seven feet off the ground.

“Hold on!” Iroh called, then took off at a slow jog down the yard.

 _Better him than me,_ Mako thought. He had no problem with kids, in theory, and Tenzin’s bunch could be fun, but some ages were harder than others. He liked babies. Babies were cute and didn’t move a whole lot. Even taking care of them wasn’t that bad. No one liked a diaper full of shit, but it was pretty straightforward what to do about it. And the older kids were interesting. You could talk to them like people, play games with them that made sense. For example, he’d been teaching Meelo some of his detective skills lately. Tracking, finding lost objects, things like that. The kid was only nine, but had also turned into a pretty decent smackball player. He was a little less sure what to do with Ikki and Jinora, both of them being at an age where a young man of any kind made them giggle and run away, but they were harmless enough and, when she was in more of a mood to be serious, some of Jinora’s interactions with the spirits were downright fascinating. But the age in-between, that needy, sticky age when they were fast and loud and nothing that came out of their mouths made any sense? What were you supposed to do with that?

Korra liked the little kids though. She'd once said she didn’t know what to do with them once they “got hormones and talked back.” Mako had almost said, “ask your parents,” but had for once known to hold his tongue. For once.

He glanced back outside. Rohan’s fat arms were more or less strangling Iroh now, his face turned an interesting shade of red. _Nope._ Pretending to be a sky bison while 35lbs of four-year-old choked you and pulled out all your hair was a hard pass.

The potluck itself had been Korra’s idea. Things like this often were. She was sweet like that in a way that was sometimes surprising to people who didn’t know her well. Commander Bumi, who had been in town for a week with his part of the United Forces fleet, was due to set sail again tomorrow. Wanting to give him a proper sendoff without imposing on Pema, who had already put him up during his time in Republic City, Korra had organized a small get together for close friends and family on Air Temple Island. 

Asami sat directly across from him talking quietly to Tenzin. She looked dressed for the frozen tundra, if the tundra had a runway show. She wore a thick white sweater that came all the way up to her chin and knee-high leather boots. While there was nothing particularly remarkable about that, Asami was one of those people who somehow managed to look gorgeous no matter what she was doing or wearing. She even ate pretty. It wasn’t her fault, but more than once Mako had thought that might have been one of the reasons they hadn’t worked out. Though he’d die before he’d ever admit it, in a lot of ways he’d always considered Asami a little out of his league. He knew he was smart and considered himself good-looking, but there was some stuff he was just never going to have. Seeing how happy she was with someone, well, a bit more like her had only helped confirm his theory.

She and Iroh had shown up only about half an hour ago, apologizing profusely for bringing a few bottles of wine that had probably cost more than Mako’s whole paycheck. Iroh, having only just gotten back from his leave of absence and facing a mountain of work, hadn’t had time to make anything. Lucky for them, they were the kind of people who could just pick up something amazing on the way over. Which was good. Iroh was actually a decent cook, but Asami could burn water.

Mako didn’t resent them for being rich—and they were, to be clear, stupid rich—and thought that, overall, Asami and Iroh were pretty normal for that sort of thing. They weren’t snobby about it like a lot of people with money, people who had decided having money meant only having things that cost money, too. It was more that money simply wasn’t a factor to them. Iroh could show up to Asami’s birthday party wearing a 6,000-yuan “casual” suit; meanwhile his favorite place in the world was some fucking dipshit noodle bar where dinner cost less than Mako’s morning coffee. Asami had her own box at the pro-bending arena, but at the end of the day was spilling nachos and beer on the floor the same as everyone she’d invited to watch with her, more often than not Mako himself. It had been a long time since Mako had had trouble making ends meet, and the same for Bolin, so he found that most of the time he didn’t even notice the difference in their means. Iroh and Asami were generous in a not-a-handout sort of way, and using the arena box or the pool at the estate had become so common he didn’t really think about it. But every once in a while Mako wondered what it might be like. Or what it might have been like if he and Asami had worked things out.

Who was he kidding? If he hadn’t left Asami flat. All Iroh had had to do was swoop in and pick up the pieces. The fact that he was handsome and rich and a fire prince and so fucking _nice_ probably had nothing at all to do with it, either.

Not that Mako resented him.

Fuck, why were relationships so complicated?

He heard Korra laugh from outside. Mako looked out the window to see her down on her hands and knees in the grass. Rohan, apparently having tired of Iroh, was now sitting on her back, riding her like an ostrich horse as Korra used her earthbending to rock herself up and down over miniature rolling hills. Bumi stood in front of them, blowing air out of his outstretched hands to simulate rushing wind. 

“Yee haw!” The airbending blew Korra’s hair back off her face as she yelled. Unlike Asami, Korra did not always look gorgeous. Sometimes she looked downright ridiculous, her nose bright red from the cold as she yelled herself hoarse like a crazy person. Unfortunately, Mako was forced to admit that ridiculous was actually very attractive, and that crazy person was seemingly just his type.

Iroh, meanwhile, seemed to be trying to teach Meelo how to fly. He’d jump a little, fire blasting out of his hands and feet, rise a few feet in the air, then drop into a crouch. Meelo didn’t seem to be getting the hang of it; then again, from what Korra had told him, airbending worked completely differently than firebending. It seemed like either no one had bothered to tell Iroh this, or he was trying to tire Meelo out on purpose. Mako would have believed either.

They all came tumbling in a few minutes later, beaming, their cheeks flushed with cold. Rohan was back on Iroh’s shoulders, seemingly now half asleep on top of his head. He knelt so Pema could grab him just as Korra flopped down next to Mako.

“Beer me,” she said. Mako smiled and slid a beer from the center of the table into her waiting hand. He’d brought the beer to the potluck. It might not be expensive, but he knew what Korra liked, and picking it up on the way over had almost been automatic. 

“How can you drink something cold?” Asami asked. “Aren’t you freezing?”

Korra shrugged. “Firebender,” she said, and took a swig. 

“Nothing to do with it,” said Bumi. “It’s all about constitution.” He grabbed his own beer and popped the cap on the edge of the table as Tenzin scowled. The commander had a deep voice that matched his rather wild appearance. Tall and thin, like both Tenzin and their father, Bumi wore his iron gray hair in a kind of exploded pile on top of his head. His dark, weatherbeaten face made him look much older than his brother. More like a man who’d spent years on a desert island rather than simply captaining a ship. “If you’re tough enough, you don’t even need warmth. That’s why the Avatar and I were outside while Tenzin here was hiding by the fire.”

“Either that, or Korra is from the South Pole and you’re slightly insane,” Tenzin said calmly. He glanced at Iroh. “I suppose fire might help, though.” Mako thought it was somewhere in the middle. Firebenders were usually warmer than everyone else, but he himself had never gotten the hang of the kind of internal firebending that Iroh did to keep warm in the cold. Neither, as far as he knew, had Korra. Korra was just too stubborn to get cold.

“Temperature has nothing to do with toughness, Commander,” Kuvira said. She’d come along with Opal and Bolin again, but had been fairly quiet all evening. Mako thought this might be the most she’d spoken in the last half hour. She sat at the far end of the table next to Bolin, quietly sipping on some kind of punch that Pema had made. She was friendly and polite, but Mako couldn’t shake the feeling that they were all being studied. Like zoo animals, or maybe injured prey.

“She’s right,” Asami chimed in. “I am happy to kick your ass, Bumi, right here, right now.” She took a sip of wine as Iroh sat down next to her on the bench, trying in vain to flatten his hair. Asami scooted over to him and he wrapped an arm around her waist.

“Can we make bets?” Bolin asked. His brother had been hitting Pema’s punch, and looked it. A single curl of hair had fallen over his forehead like it had somehow gotten lost. “I like you Bumi, but my money’s on the ladies.”

Kuvira snorted. “I’ve heard that before.” For some reason Iroh looked at her and frowned slightly. “Count me in.”

“Now, now,” Tenzin said. “No fighting at dinner.” He sighed slightly and rubbed at the arrow on his bald head. “I used to think I’d only have to tell my children that.”

“I’d take that challenge!” boomed Bumi, ignoring his brother completely.

“Let Kuvira go first.” Asami rubbed her hands together and blew on them, then leaned back into Iroh. “Cut me in as soon as I warm up a little. I wasn’t even outside and I’m cold.”

“At your service,” Iroh said, pulling his arm a little tighter. He kissed the top of her head. Show-off.

Mako glanced over at Korra. She took another sip of beer, a funny look on her face. He thought about what might happen if he slid over and put an arm around her as well. After all, Iroh wasn’t the only firebender with an arm. She’d probably hit him though. They were still on a break. Or whatever you called a break from something that wasn’t. A ceasefire?

Iroh had kissed her once. She’d said it was terrible. Mako had no idea what had made him think of that just now.

The only thing harder than seeing someone you used to love happy with someone who wasn’t you was seeing someone you still loved, kind of, sort of, obviously unhappy with someone who _was_ you. Kind of. Sort of. 

That’s it. No more sleeping with Korra. Not that he was. At the moment.

 _Fuck,_ why were relationships so complicated?

***

Kuvira grunted, her arm straining. “Had enough, Commander?”

“Never give up!” Bumi said through gritted teeth. He leaned in again, seemingly redoubling his efforts, but the young woman’s arm didn’t budge. “Never surrender!”

“That’s not an official United Forces policy, you know,” Iroh said from behind him. “There are perfectly legitimate times to surrender. If you read—”

“You can stop right there,” Tenzin sighed. “‘If you read.’ I’m not sure Bumi’s read a book in his life.”

Iroh blinked. “I don’t understand.”

Asami shot him a sly look. “I’m sure there’s a book about people who don’t read books. I’ll try to find it for you.” He smirked and shoved her a little. 

Korra stood behind Bumi, Bolin behind Kuvira, each of them cheering on their chosen champions. Apparently they had dinner riding on the match. 

Slowly Bumi’s arm started to bend backwards. They were seated at the end of the dining room table, Bumi’s back to the door, hands locked. It had been going on quite a while at this point, the parties apparently evenly matched. Mako found he kind of liked that. Bumi was nice enough, but also a bit of a blowhard, and he liked seeing him put in his place a bit. It was one of the things he’s always like about Korra, too. She was a girl, and also tough as shit, and never seemed to have a problem with both of those things being true. To some degree it also explained Asami. She might look like a tundra model, and wasn’t a bender, but he’d also seen her take out a couple of trained thugs with a pair of broken ribs. It seemed like Kuvira might be cut from the same cloth. And while not conventionally pretty like Asami nor crazy-person cute like Korra, she had a nice body and certain energy about her that Mako found he liked. It was pretty clear that Kuvira took no shit, and for whatever reason Mako apparently found that very attractive. Maybe that explained some things about his dating life.

“So, what’s the deal with your sister?” he asked Opal. They were seated on the couch together a bit away from the action. Opal seemed vaguely annoyed by the spectacle. Mako was simply a bit tired of people. He was pretty sure no one would hear them over all of the cheering and commotion.

“What kind of deal?”

“I mean, you know. Deal.”

Opal laughed a little. “Ah. Spirits, I wish I knew. Kuvira has never exactly confided in me. She’s a bit older, you know, and we’re pretty different. But as far as I know, there’s no deal at the moment.”

“At the moment?”

Opal’s smile turned into a bit of a grimace. “You know she’s not my real sister, right? I mean, of course she’s real, but not blood. My parents adopted her. I don’t know if they really wanted another girl after so many sons or simply felt bad for her, but at any rate she’s been part of the family since before I can remember. I only say this so you understand why it’s not weird that she’s had this on-again, off-again thing with my brother, Bataar. Or at least, the fact that they’d date isn’t weird, even if the rest of it is. It’s been going on for ages. Since they were teenagers.”

“You and Bolin met when you were teenagers.” 

“Yeah, but it’s been quite a bit longer for them,” Opal said. “They’ve been breaking up and making up for more than ten years. At one point Bataar even asked me about rings. Then the next month Kuvira declared she was going to spend six months in the Fire Nation on some kind of exchange. It wound up being nine months, actually, and though they briefly got back together when she came back he never brought it up again, at least to me. At the moment, I think they’re off. But who actually knows?” Opal sighed. “Sorry, that’s a really long answer.”

“That’s okay,” said Mako. He appreciated someone being thorough. At first he’d been a bit skeptical of Bolin’s relationship with her, especially given how much of a disaster Bo usually was with women. But he’d found over the years that he genuinely liked Opal. She was kind, but no-nonsense, in a way that was both very good for his brother and also not annoying. They suited one another. Mako had been happy when they’d gotten more serious, if also feeling ever so slightly abandoned.

“Sometimes I wish Bataar would just move on,” Opal said. “I know that’s not very nice, but he’s 31 now. He’s so smart, and yet in this one area he’s so stupid. If Kuvira wanted to commit, she would have by now. He should see other people, branch out. I know she has. But he just keeps coming back.”

It was a bit too familiar for Mako. Together, then not, then together, then not, then this weird kind of in-between that wasn’t together but also wasn’t not, the whole time thinking you’re stupid, Mako, this is so _stupid_ but not being able to do anything about it either way. They were friends, after all. Great friends, maybe even best friends. He couldn’t give that up. That wasn’t even on the table. But whenever it became a bit more than friends they hit the same goddamned wall. It would be amazing for a few months, fun and exciting and sexy, and he’d almost get to a point where he was like yes, this is it, we should do this. Then it was like he couldn’t say anything without Korra jumping down his throat, even when she’d just asked him to say it. So they’d stop. Then a few months would go by and it would start all over again.

A round of cheering erupted from the dining room. Apparently Kuvira had won. Her face was glowing with pride. 

“Nice job!” he called from the couch. She turned and flashed him the first genuine smile he’d seen on her face. Behind her, Korra dug through her pockets, then slapped a couple of bills into Bolin’s hand with a scowl.

Maybe it was time to break the cycle for both of them. As he had the thought, Mako wasn’t entirely sure which two people he meant.


	7. ASAMI

“She hates me,” Asami said. She pressed her forehead into the cool desk and closed her eyes. “That’s the only explanation. She absolutely hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you.” Iroh ran his fingers tenderly over the back of her neck. They tried not to do that kind of thing at work, but she had no appointments for the next hour and Ren had gone to lunch. 

“Yes, she does.” Asami knew she sounded petulant. She didn’t care.

“No,” Iroh said, “she doesn’t.” He pulled gently at her shoulder. “Come on, look at me.” Asami let herself be pulled up. Iroh turned and leaned against her desk, not quite sitting on it. Even with her office door closed, he’d probably never do that without asking. “Look, it’s Osion, right? She loves the United Republic. Putting you in charge of the celebrations is probably a vote of confidence. She’d never trust something like that to someone she hated.”

“But Iroh, what the hell is this doing running through RCCC in the first place? Planning a week of welcome events should come from the president’s office. She’s got plenty of staff. Or what about the mayor’s office? The princes’ visit isn’t a matter of city defense!”

“Isn’t it?” Iroh said darkly. 

“And even if it was,” Asami said, choosing to ignore the comment, “half of them are your family. I know they’re technically my family too, now, but why give it to my office and not yours? If there really is a reason to involve the United Forces, that’s your half of the shop.”

“She probably doesn’t want it to look like it’s military,” said Iroh. “There are legitimate security issues, and I’ll be a full partner on this, you have my word. But meeting Prince Wu and my brothers with a bunch of UF officers sends the wrong signal to both the Earth Kingdom and the Fire Nation. Besides, I was supposed to be on the ship with them, remember? This decision could have been made weeks ago, assuming I’d be gone.”

Iroh might have a point about that last part. Prince Wu, the Crown Prince of the Earth Kingdom, had joined Iroh and his brothers in Ba Sing Se at the request of the Earth Queen. Wu had never been to the South Pole, and supposedly the joint visit to Chief Tonraq was meant to build, or at least show, solidarity and friendship between the next generation of Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom leaders. Iroh had been part of the party as well, except that he’d left early, cutting the last leg of the trip. Asami suspected that Wu joining might have had something to do with that, but hadn’t pressed him. If Iroh had something to tell her, he generally did when he was ready.

“But why isn’t her office handling it?” Asami said. “City planning is me. Party planning is not.” In truth, this was the part that bothered her the most. Planning a state visit shouldn’t be Republic City Central Command at all. Dumping it all on her, and at the last minute, made no sense at all.

Iroh shrugged. “Her private secretary is new,” he said. “Zhu-Li something.”

“Joo Dee.”

“Right. I met her last week. Anyway, a royal visit could simply be too important to trust to someone inexperienced. And the rest of her staff have only been in place two years. You’ve been the Civilian Liaison since the beginning, and you probably know the city better than anyone on her team.” The corner of Iroh’s mouth ticked up into a half smile. “Not to mention you’re smarter than all of them combined.” 

“But with three weeks notice? We knew about this visit three months ago. Iroh, she wants me to fail.”

He sighed a little, then took her hand. “I know it’s not something you enjoy, but I think it’s a good thing. It’ll let President Osion see value in the work you’re doing, and build some trust. Make her look good, make the Republic look good, and maybe she’ll come around on some of the other ideas.” 

Asami squeezed his hand. “You’re probably right.”

“And don’t be afraid to put me to work,” Iroh said. His little smile was back. “I do, after all, know quite a bit about the Fire Nation royal family. It’ll be your show, but wherever you need the Forces, or me, just ask.”

She grinned back at him. “How about my place after work?” They’d lived together for years, but she somehow never got tired of that joke.

Iroh glanced behind him, making sure the door was still shut. Then he leaned down and gave her a soft kiss. “I’d put you in charge of anything,” he said quietly. 

“Except grocery shopping.”

“Except grocery shopping,” he chuckled. “Because what have we learned?”

“‘Buttermilk isn’t the same as milk,’” she said dutifully. But really, they both said ‘milk’ on the side, and she’d been in a hurry. And if it was so obvious, why had Iroh taken such a big swig of it?

He kissed her again, a little longer this time. “Very good.”


	8. MAKO

Mako gritted his teeth, bracing himself against the arm of the couch. He closed his eyes and started to roll his hips, not really needing to but feeling like he should at least contribute something. But soon he felt a firm hand on his stomach, pushing him back down into the cushions. All right then. Apparently he was just along for the ride. Pun intended. That was fine with him. For once it was nice to not have to take care of anyone else’s needs, put anyone first, make decisions. He could just lie here and get fucked. It was great.

He held on as long as he could. He could at least be polite. But there was only so much you could do to a guy. Mako bucked his hips again and grunted, then opened his eyes. “Shit.” 

Kuvira sat back and wiped her face, then pulled off him and walked across the green carpet to the bathroom. He heard the toilet flush a minute later, followed by the sink. Mako sat up and fished his boxers off the floor. He was just buckling his belt when the bathroom door opened again. Her black hair was back in its braid. It looked slightly damp, as if she’d slicked it back in the sink. She picked her jeans up off the floor and stepped into them, straightened her shirt, then flopped down next to him on the couch.

“So,” Mako said, trying not to sound too awkward. “Want a drink?”

To his relief Kuvira laughed, and not the kind of laugh that was laughing at him. “Doesn’t that typically come first?”

Mako only shrugged. In truth she’d come on to him, but it seemed they were both fine pretending it had been the other way around. He hopped up off the couch and walked the few steps to what passed for the kitchen, then opened a cabinet. He wasn’t even sure what he had. It wasn’t like he’d planned on bringing anyone back to his apartment tonight. “Um, there’s beer,” he started. “Also tequila, whiskey, and this god-awful grain alcohol that Korra got me as a joke.” Mako was never drinking that shit again if he could help it. “Might be it. Any interest?”

“I could do a whiskey,” she said. “Neat.”

Mako raised his eyebrows at that, then pulled two glasses down from the top of the cabinet. He gave each a healthy pour, walked the drinks back to the couch and handed one to her. She took it with a slanted smile. 

“Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Mako said. The whiskey burned going down. It wasn’t particularly high-end stuff, but it got the job done. Ultimately, liquor to him was a lot like food. It was an input, and though he had some preferences as long as he had some it didn’t matter very much what it was. But thankfully, it didn’t seem like Kuvira was picky either. That was a welcome change. Asami had always wanted him to guess what she needed, then been upset when he’d gotten it wrong. Korra had told him exactly what she wanted, then gotten it herself, thus making it clear that she didn’t need him at all. But when Mako had asked Kuvira out to dinner, she’d seemingly been happy with his decisions, while also not forcing him to make all of them. What had just happened on his couch, case in point. The change was refreshing.

They sat and sipped their drinks, neither one of them talking. After a few minutes of increasingly awkward silence, Mako said, “I don’t usually do this.” That wasn’t precisely true, but it seemed the kind of thing he should say.

“What’s it to me if you do?”

Mako didn’t have a good answer to that. 

Kuvira shifted so her back was against the other arm of the sofa. “Fire Ferrets?” she asked, nodding to the poster above the couch. 

“My old pro-bending team. Bolin and I played for a few years. Korra was our waterbender the year we should have won the championships.” He didn’t add that the championships had ended in Amon blowing up the arena. That would lead to Amon, which would lead to Korra, which would lead to places he didn’t want to go on a first date. Or whatever this was.

“Right,” Kuvira said. She took another slow sip. “So is that how you met the Avatar? Pro-bending?” 

Mako kicked himself inwardly. So much for avoiding Korra. “Yeah.”

“But you were dating Asami Sato at the time?” 

“Yeah.”

“And then you were dating Korra?”

“Yeah.”

Something in his expression must have showed. “I don’t mean to pry,” Kuvira added. “Opal gave me the rundown on who everyone was before Asami’s birthday dinner.”

“It’s okay,” Mako said, not sure if it was or wasn’t. “We all stayed friends.”

“I can tell.” She gave him her slanted smile again. “It’s an interesting group. The Avatar, her ex-boyfriend, her ex-boyfriend’s brother and his girlfriend, and her ex-boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend and her husband.”

It was certainly weird when you said it like that. “That’s Team Avatar.”

“So how does General Iroh fit into all of that? You’re all ex-teammates, ex-girlfriends and boyfriends. Opal said she and Bolin were a set up. All about the same age.” She raised one thick eyebrow. “It seems the general is the odd man out, no?”

Mako shrugged. “Not really, anymore. He and Asami have been together for years. And the general thing makes Iroh seem older than he is. It’s only a couple of years.”

“So what’s his deal?”

Deal? This was all of a sudden starting to remind him uncomfortably of his own conversation with Opal the previous week. Just what Mako needed, the woman he’d slept with not half an hour ago asking all about his friend. His very _married_ friend, no less. 

Mako decided to take the best interpretation of the word. “We worked together a little during the Equalists thing,” he said, “but I didn’t really get to know him until he and Asami started dating. At first we thought it was a fling. You know, one of those ‘brush with death let’s bang’ kind of things. We kept waiting for him to get tired of her, or the other way around, but he stuck. And instead of whisking her off to some palace somewhere, Iroh just kind of… assimilated.” Mako thought about it for a bit. “It’s kind of like he showed up one day and never left.”

Kuvira laughed a little. “No, I mean what’s he like.”

Great. Cue second interpretation of “deal.” “He’s… I don’t know, he’s like Iroh.”

She rolled her eyes this time. “You’re funny. What I’m trying to say is, we’re in the same field. He has an excellent reputation, of course. Rose fast largely on merit, stood up to corruption, did a lot to modernize the United Forces. But you’re one of his closest friends, and I’m curious how all that holds up.” She took another drink. “There’s always something. A secret drinking or gambling problem. A jealous streak. Deep, dark ambitions.”

Mako frowned a little. Iroh didn’t have any of that. He was actually kind of boring. “Sap,” he said finally.

“Sap?”

“Yeah. Iroh is a sap. The man is tough as nails in a lot of ways, like seriously. I’ve seen him do some things, endure some things I couldn’t imagine. And the firepower that comes out of him when he puts his mind to it is unbelievable. But he’s also just this ridiculous softie. Treats Asami like a princess. I mean, she _is_ a princess now, but you know. A real flowers and ice cream cones kind of guy. Like, Iroh’s had this pet fish for years that I think if it died he’d go into mourning. I mean, it’s a fucking fish. It doesn’t have a clue who he is, and he’s probably eating all its relatives for dinner every night, but he loves it.”

Kuvira smiled. “That actually doesn’t surprise me.”

Something clicked. “The other night at dinner. You knew him.”

“Everything but his name.”

Mako looked at her, puzzled. Then his eyes flew open in sudden understanding. “You? And _him?_ ” 

She laughed again, a low, throaty sound. “I wasn’t quite sure at first, but as soon as he opened his mouth, I knew. He’s grown up a bit, but he looks exactly the same when he’s nervous.”

“So that’s why you’re asking?”

“Call it professional curiosity. Like I said, I didn’t even know his name. But he was interesting, and I never quite forgot him. Finding out that drunk kid from all those years ago turned into the great General Iroh was mostly funny.”

Drunk kid? _Iroh?_ Mako could count on both hands the number of drinks he’d seen Iroh take, and at least four of those he’d practically poured down his throat at the wedding. Huh. You think you know a guy.

“So, um. Anyway,” he said, trying to change the subject. Adding Kuvira to the number of women who were mentally comparing him and Iroh wasn’t something he wanted to dwell on. One had been enough. He realized he was scratching the back of his neck and made himself put his arm down. “This was nice,” he said finally. 

“It was. But I leave for Ba Sing Se on Monday and I don’t do long distance.”

Ah well. It had been worth a shot. “Thanks anyway.”

Kuvira drained the last of her drink. “I do like you, Mako. Don’t take it the wrong way.”

“I’m not.” He wasn’t. Of course he wasn’t. He struggled for something else to say. “So, why Ba Sing Se? I thought you’d be going back to Zaofu.”

She smiled at that, a different sort of smile. Korra smiled like that sometimes around their friends when they were on again and not talking about it. It was a smile that had a secret. “Sorry, I can’t say yet. But if I have my way, you might know soon enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While it's not background necessary for this story, if you're curious how Iroh knows Kuvira, the full interaction is in the short piece, "My Kind of Stranger," which I've just now decided is series canon because it brings me joy ;-) Work located here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27169523


	9. IROH

Iroh stood at the corner of 24th and Wan Ave with his hands in his pockets. Asami had said to dress comfortably, so he’d thrown his old black cloth tactical jacket on over a t-shirt, dark fatigues and boots. It wasn’t the warmest outfit in the world, but he was firebending a little and felt fine despite the unseasonable cold. He glanced at his watch, but of course it only said 1 and 1. That still made Iroh smile. Besides, him being on time and Asami being a bit late wasn’t anything new. Knowing exactly how late wouldn’t get her here any faster, and parking in the newly revitalized part of the Industrial District could be a challenge on a Saturday night.

He leaned back and rested his head against the smooth stone of the building behind him and stared at the sky, hoping that way he at least wouldn’t look too suspicious. Iroh knew he was big, and lurking on a corner at twilight dressed all in black might give some people the wrong impression. The sky wasn’t very interesting though. Just flat, uniform gray fading slowly into a deep tarnished silver as the sun sank below the horizon. He’d never seen it snow in Republic City, even if there was plenty of powder in the nearby mountains, but Iroh had seen a lot of snow skies in his life and he had a feeling this might be one of them. It was certainly cold enough. He wondered idly what the spirit vines would make of snow in the city. Or Korra, for that matter—she must miss home sometimes. From there, Iroh’s mind wandered to what a snowball fight on Air Temple Island might look like. Hopefully he wasn’t too old for that now. They could even do girls vs. guys like they did for smackball sometimes. It was pretty much even, with himself, Bolin, Mako, Meelo and Rohan against Asami, Korra, Opal, Jinora, and Ikki. Maybe he could even get Pema and Tenzin to play. He was well down the way to imagining tackling Asami in the snow after hitting her with a particularly impressive shot when he heard a familiar voice.

“You lose something up there, general?”

Iroh’s attention snapped back to reality. He looked down to see Kuvira staring up at him curiously out of a deep green parka. She was quite a bit shorter than him, but somehow her piercing gaze made him feel small, or like he’d been caught doing something he ought not to be.

“Oh. Hi,” he said. “No, just waiting.”

She cocked her head. “Alone in the cold?”

Iroh chuckled. “Only temporarily. Asami is on her way over. She had some things to do out at the estate today, so she’s meeting me here.”

Kuvira glanced up and down Wan Ave, which over the last few years had been transformed from the kind of crumbling light industrial area favored by the various bending triads for their illegal activities into one of the city’s more fun, off-beat neighborhoods. The strip between 24th and 26th was now a cluster of small restaurants, bars, art galleries, and other small businesses. It was exactly the kind of subsidized urban renewal project that President Osion seemed to find unnecessary. “Date night?” she asked.

“Something like that.”

“What’s the plan?”

Iroh beamed. He was probably more excited than he should be. “No idea! My birthday was a while ago, while I was still on that trip. I don’t mind, but Asami said she wanted a make-up date. Whatever it is, it’s a surprise. I’m only along for the ride.”

“Ah,” Kuvira said. “Another time then.”

“Another time for what?”

“It’s cold, and I was hoping that we could finally get that cup of tea.” She must have seen his face, for she added, “Oh please, nothing like that. But we have similar interests, I think, and it’s not very often a private audience with the General of the United Forces falls into my lap.” 

“If you need some time, the easiest thing is to go through my office,” Iroh said. “Lt. Iameh owns me, body and soul, from 08:00 to whenever she consents to release me. I can let her know and she’ll find us something before you head back to Zaofu.”

But Kuvira was already shaking her head. “I’m leaving on Monday. And I was hoping we could keep this unofficial.”

Iroh raised an eyebrow. What would the head of the Zaofu guard want to talk about off the record? It wasn’t like his meetings were recorded. If she didn’t want to go through RCCC, that meant she didn’t even want a record they had talked. He didn’t like giving up his weekends, but it sounded important.

“Very well. Breakfast tomorrow? If anyone asks, we’re just catching up.”

“Now that I know your name, you mean.”

Iroh didn’t respond to that. Instead he gave her directions to a tea shop between his apartment and City Hall. It was small and off a side street; the kind of place where they’d be unlikely to be seen but, if they were, it wouldn’t be at all odd to find him there.

“Until tomorrow then,” Kuvira said, and gave him a funny little sideways smile. Then she walked away. She’d gone a full block before it occurred to him that she hadn't mentioned what she was doing out alone herself, and that she'd in fact asked all the questions. He was still watching her go when he felt Asami’s hand on his arm. Funny how he’d know her touch anywhere, even without looking.

“Iroh, what’s wrong?” she asked. She must have seen his face.

“I don’t know.”

***

Asami was still laughing as he opened the door. “It really wasn’t that funny,” he said.

“Yes, it was!” She spoke in a breathy whisper, her dark mouth in a wide smile. They were both trying to keep it down. It had gotten late, and they didn’t want to make too much noise in the hallway. “The mighty Iroh, strongest man in the world, and you couldn’t even… couldn’t even...” Asami dissolved into giggles, leaning heavily on his arm. The whole thing was entirely unfair. Obviously, the strongman game had been rigged. 

It had turned out Asami’s birthday plan had been… nothing. She’d remembered that one of his favorite parts of traveling was getting a little lost in a new part of the world. Assuming—correctly—that the Fire Nation royal tour had been very highly structured, and that this might have been frustrating, she’d tried to recreate the feeling for him in Republic City. They’d picked a direction at random and started walking, stopping wherever Iroh wanted to stop, eating what he wanted to eat, and seeing what happened. After about an hour they’d stumbled upon some kind of winter spirits festival deep in the Dragon Flats. Amazingly, an entire four blocks had been barricaded off for the event, which included carnival games, lighted rides, and the kind of hot junk food Iroh secretly, or maybe not so secretly, absolutely loved. They’d stayed until closing time, running from game to game like a couple of kids on holiday, before finally catching a cab back to the apartment. 

The door swung inwards and they made their way inside. “Well, if you don’t like it…” Iroh reached for the polar bear dog hat but Asami stepped away, clutching both hands to her head.

“Don’t you dare! You gave it to me fair and square.” 

“Clearly you don’t appreciate my prowess,” he said stiffly. 

“Oh, stuff it,” she laughed, then stepped up to kiss him. Her lips tasted like powdered sugar and hot spiced wine. “Now go hide in the bedroom. I need five minutes.”

“Wait, there’s more?”

Asami gave him a slow smile. “If you don’t give me five minutes, you’ll never find out.”

Iroh went.

“Okay!” she called. Iroh opened the door to find the house almost completely dark. 

“Asami?”

“In here.” He walked out of the bedroom and down the short hall into the kitchen. He could see her standing in the living room, her shape a dark silhouette against the city lights outside. Asami now wore the red silk robe he’d put next to the bathtub during the riddle game. He’d actually picked it up in the Fire Nation at the very beginning of his trip, though in retrospect having it in the bottom of his trunk for months had not helped him miss her any less. She’d never gotten around to wearing it though. It was very short, with long sleeves, the contrast making her legs look even longer. It was also a great color on her. Or off her. Off would be good. 

She’d left the polar bear dog hat on. The puffy white balls on the ends hung down on either side of her exposed throat. 

Iroh opened his mouth, then closed it again. 

“Can I get your help?” she asked. Iroh took three big steps forwards as if pulled by an invisible rope. 

“No, no,” she laughed, and pointed to the floor. “Not that. Candles. Do you mind?” Iroh looked down. He hadn’t even noticed the four big white candles she’d set up on the floor. They surrounded what looked like their couch cushions covered in beach towels. She saw him looking and a little color rose to her cheeks. “I had to improvise.”

Iroh slowly knelt down and lit the candles one at a time with his fingers. “What is all this?” His voice came out a little hoarse.

“Birthday massage,” Asami said. 

For a moment his mind went completely blank. Asami massages were their own category of good. Iroh had always been a bit tactile. He loved touching and being touched. But he didn’t just go around hugging everyone. He considered it quite intimate, and generally only liked touching those he was close with. How Iroh had felt when Asami had examined his arm had been the first real clue he’d been in serious trouble. His skin had known he loved her before he had.

Iroh stripped off his shirt, then stepped out of his pants, laying them carefully on the plundered couch frame. It was a little awkward standing in the living room in nothing but his shorts, even though it was his house and obviously nothing Asami hadn’t seen pretty much every day for years. He knelt down next to the cushions, then lay flat on his stomach. He heard a faint pop, then his nose filled with the scent of orange and something that might have been pine. It wasn’t a combination Iroh would have known to pick, but it smelled wonderful. A heartbeat passed, then he felt cool fingers slide slowly up his back, slick with some kind of oil. He shuddered slightly, unable to help it. Asami kept going, gently tracing the contours of his muscles as she made her way up towards his neck. Then her thumbs dug sharply into the meat of his shoulders, once, twice. Iroh groaned.

The fingers kept going. Clearly that had just been a tease, a taste of things to come. Asami traced her hands up his neck and into the back of his hair. For a half second the touch made him oddly uneasy. It felt wrong, somehow, invasive, like being suddenly kissed by a stranger. He tensed, unsure what was the matter. Nothing she’d done had ever made him uncomfortable before. Then Asami scratched his head a little and the sensation abruptly faded. Iroh let out a long breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding, his whole body now relaxing at the touch. There was something about a soft head scratch that always made him melt. He had a feeling his wife was perfectly aware of this. 

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” he whispered.

Asami laughed. “If only everyone were this easy to please.” 

They lay together on the floor of the living room, half on and half off the covered couch cushions. Iroh now wore the polar bear dog hat and nothing else. The whole world smelled of orange and pine. The only downside of Asami’s massage was that he’d clearly peaked in life. Nothing else would ever top this.

“I have some bad news,” Iroh said. His left hand fingered the puddle of discarded silk on the floor.

“Mmm?”

“My birthday is actually tomorrow. You’re going to have to do all of that over again.” 

She swatted lightly at his chest. “Shut up. Your birthday was in September.”

“Worth a try.”


	10. ASAMI

A soft bang sounded in the distance. Asami opened her eyes, then quickly closed them against the muted sunlight streaming through the windows. The orientation of the bedroom, and whether the curtains were left open or closed at night, was one of the few arguments with Iroh she’d ever lost. She rolled over with a groan and stuffed her face into the pillow. It was entirely too early for any rational human being to be awake on a weekend, whatever the sun said. Which was, of course, why Iroh’s side of the bed was empty. Not everyone was rational. 

“Hey,” said a quiet voice. She opened her eyes to see Iroh leaning in the doorway. He was already dressed in his black jacket and what looked like going out clothes, his dark hair still damp from the shower. He held her mug cupped in one palm. “Sorry to wake you, but I have to go meet Kuvira.” 

Asami grunted. Right. His breakfast meeting. “Mkay,” she managed.

Iroh smiled at her. She knew he found her aversion to mornings just as bizarre as she found his crack of dawn energy. “Think you can drag yourself up for a minute? There’s something I want to show you.” He held out the hand with the mug, which was now faintly steaming. He must have been firebending it while he talked to her. “Here, I made you tea.”

***

Asami pressed her face against the sliding door of their small balcony. Her breath fogged the freezing glass. She couldn’t believe it. Everything, everywhere, was white. 

“I didn’t even know it _could_ snow here,” she whispered. Asami had lived in Republic City her whole life and had only ever seen snow in the mountains. In truth it wasn’t much, less than half an inch, but it was enough to completely transform the city. The view from the floor to ceiling living room windows, always spectacular, was now almost magical. The dark streets of downtown were pure white, and this early on a Sunday still largely unmarked. Every tree that lined 4th ave below was dusted with powdered sugar. Beyond the buildings, Yue Bay stretched off into the horizon like a silvered mirror, its smooth surface just a few shades darker than the dull white sky. 

Asami reached for the handle that slid open the balcony door. She saw Iroh’s footprints outside already—closing the door must have been the sound she’d heard earlier. Had he actually been out in the snow barefoot? _Firebenders,_ she thought, shaking her head slightly, and slid open the door. A blast of cold air hit her face and she shivered. Not knowing what Iroh wanted to show her, she’d only thrown on a t-shirt.

“Here,” he said. She heard a scratch of fabric, then felt a weight around her shoulders as Iroh draped his jacket over her. She flashed him a smile and stepped outside, careful to keep her bare feet on the snow-free mat. Asami could hear the slow tink tink of melting snow and ice as it dripped onto the railing. The city itself was almost completely silent, as if for one magical second everyone was doing exactly as she was, standing at their own windows with their own teacups and their own Irohs, utterly enchanted. 

“Wow.” It was all she could think of.

Iroh stepped out onto the balcony and wrapped an arm around her back. “A good reminder that anything is possible,” he said. He leaned down and kissed her temple. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.” Asami reached up to give him back the jacket, but he squeezed his hand on her shoulder. “Keep it. I’ll grab the other one.”

As soon as he turned his back, Asami reached forward and scooped two handfuls of snow off the railing. She turned on her heel and threw one at him as fast as she could. There was a burst of flame and a hiss. Iroh’s mouth curled into a little half smile. He looked amused. “You’re cute. You thought you could take a career general in a surprise a—” 

The second snowball hit him dead in the chest. Asami burst out laughing at the shocked expression on his face. “What were you saying?”

Iroh brushed the snow off his shirt and smiled. “That anything is possible.” He took two big steps forwards and kissed her quickly on the mouth, his lips warm against the chill of the outside. “I’ll be back in a few hours,” he said. Then he turned and walked back inside. Asami heard the front door close a minute later. 

Asami pulled Iroh’s black jacket tight around her with one hand, then simply watched the silent city. Nothing moved. She took a sip of the tea that Iroh had made her. It was already cooling.


	11. IROH

_Five weeks ago..._

Kazai led the way through the lower ring of Ba Sing Se. Iroh didn’t think his brother had been to the city much, if ever, but not knowing something had never stopped Kaz from doing anything before. While a bias towards action was another thing he and his brother shared, Iroh’s years in the United Forces had taught him some harsh lessons about acting on limited information. At a bare minimum, he would have brought a map. Of course, he would also have asked his little brother, who had been to Ba Sing Se on quite a few occasions and knew perfectly well how to find the tram, for directions. But the crown prince didn’t ask. Or at least, he seemed to have no interest in asking Iroh.

“Excuse me?” Kazai said, gently putting his hand on the arm of a young woman packing up the contents of a small fruit stand. She jumped and spun, but her wary expression quickly faded in the face of the prince’s winning smile. 

“Yes?” On closer inspection, she looked no more than 20. She was slim and rather pretty, her straight black hair just brushing the top of Kazai’s hand, which she’d allowed to stay on her arm. Iroh couldn’t help thinking that she looked a lot like Crown Princess Inae.

“I’m afraid I’m a bit lost, and you seem like just the person to help me.” The woman smiled shyly, as if the prospect of helping Kazai do anything was the perfect ending to a long day. Iroh rolled his eyes, but he’d secretly always been a bit jealous about how far his brother could get on little more than charm and confidence. “I, and my friends here, are looking for the tram to the middle ring. Could you point me in the right direction?”

The woman’s smile broadened, apparently glad to be asked a question she knew the answer to. She gave Kazai the directions, which to his credit were slightly different, and potentially faster, than how Iroh would have gone. 

“Is there anything else?” she asked.

Kazai squeezed her arm, then bowed. “Nope. And thank you. You’ve made me feel so welcome in Ba Sing Se.” The woman beamed at him, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. Kazai turned and winked at Matsu, then led the way down the street in the way she’d indicated. Iroh trudged after him, already beginning to regret having agreed to this little expedition. Watching his married brother flatter every pretty girl in the Earth Kingdom was not his idea of a fun evening.

As they walked, Iroh reached up again to smooth down his hair. It had grown out a little on the trip, so he’d tried as best as he could to comb it down over his forehead. If they were going to try to pass themselves off as residents of Ba Sing Se for the night, his pale skin and gold eyes were a dead giveaway no matter what he was wearing. Matsu was a little better off, as in the dark his eyes could pass for brown, but he and Kazai may as well have “Fire Nation” tattooed on their foreheads. While there was no rule against members of the Fire Nation walking around Ba Sing Se, it was uncommon enough they’d be remembered, and all the more so with the three of them together. If they were remembered, they could probably be recognized, especially with the _Honorbound_ docked just outside the outer ring. And if they were recognized, that meant whatever they did would reflect on the royal family, whether they wanted it to or not. 

Iroh pulled a little at the emerald tunic. It was a bit tight in the arms. “Who exactly do you expect us to fool in these?” he asked. “Especially if you keep stopping to ask for directions to very basic landmarks? I believe the whole point was to blend in.” 

“Oh, quit fussing, Ro Ro,” laughed Matsu. He reached up and ruffled Iroh’s hair. Mat was quite a bit shorter than he was. “You’ll want people to see that pretty face of yours, trust me.” Iroh swatted his hand away, annoyed. 

All he had wanted was a walk without an audience and some lower ring street food. He was starting to get a sinking feeling that wasn’t the agenda. 

***

Prince Wu was a little man in every sense of the word. Iroh couldn’t say he was pleased to see him. He was nearly a head shorter than Iroh, and thin. Not thin like Asami, who had both the build and muscle tone of a dancer, but thin like a man who might blow over in the next stiff breeze. Iroh wondered how far he could throw Wu if it really came to it, then decided he’d better not dwell on that particular fantasy. During the few times they’d met over the years, tossing Prince Wu down the hallway or through one of the wide palace windows had been all too tempting. 

The real issue wasn’t his physical appearance, of course. People came in all shapes and sizes, and that had little enough to do with anything. Spirits, look at Katara; 5’1’, 100lbs soaking wet, and even at 89 years old Iroh wasn’t entirely sure he could take her. In fact, he was pretty sure that he couldn’t. But Wu was, well, _small,_ in a way that someone like Katara certainly wasn’t. He wasn’t stupid—or maybe he was, but that wasn’t what Iroh meant—yet he was small all the same. His tastes were simple. Fine clothes, beautiful women, sweet food and drink, and whatever contributed to his own amusement. Iroh liked at least a few of those well enough himself, but this seemed to be where Wu’s desires ended. Like his aunt, Queen Hou-Ting, Prince Wu hardly ever left the palace at the center of the upper ring in Ba Sing Se. When he did, it was invariably in pursuit of one of those things, or, rarely, because Hou-Ting made him. As far as Iroh could tell he had no aspirations except to be king, no passions outside of indulgence, and no curiosity whatsoever. Prince Wu’s entire world started and ended at Prince Wu. 

They had gotten along well enough so far for the simple fact that Prince Wu paid so little heed to what other people actually thought or felt that he got along with everyone through sheer obliviousness. In fact, the last time they had been together, Wu had spent an absurd amount of time asking everyone, Iroh included, how to get into Asami’s pants, despite him stating very clearly, and with increasing anger, that they were engaged. Asami had eventually gotten so annoyed she’d practically eaten Iroh’s face right in front of him. Wu had finally taken the hint. Yet after a half day of grumbling, he’d been right back to slapping Iroh on the back and asking him if he wanted him to put in a good word for him down at Club Platinum.

Prince Wu was standing on the far end of the platform as Iroh, Matsu, and Kazai exited the tram in the middle ring. The prince was dressed much as they were, his usual fine suit replaced with a grass-green tunic over a light gold shirt and pants. 

“Hey, hey, hey! Who’s ready to Ba Sing Se?” he called. At the end of each syllable of “Ba Sing Se” he stuck out one hip, his perfectly coiffed brown hair bobbing in time to the rhythm.

Iroh just stared at him. “I thought it was just us tonight,” he said quietly, after a moment. “Men of the Fire Nation, brothers bonding and all that.” He didn’t want to be impolite, but spending his evening semi-incognito with an excited Prince Wu was about as far from what Iroh wanted to be doing as it was possible to get. 

“Of course it’s still us,” Matsu said, taking his arm. “Us and Wu, who lives here and knows all the best spots. We would be crazy not to let him show us around. Besides, you said that the way to see a place is to meet locals. You can’t get much more local than the guy who is going to be head of the whole place one day.”

“No,” Iroh said finally. “I’ve decided that I’m tired. You all have fun tonight.” He turned to go, looking for the stairs that would take him to the other side of the tram. He knew he should stay and make sure Mat and Kaz didn’t get into too much trouble, but after two months of being exhausted and homesick even he had his limits. 

“No way, little brother,” said Kazai. He grabbed Iroh’s other arm, holding him fast. “We missed your birthday last month. Don’t think we didn’t notice you trying to make everyone forget. It’s the last year of your youth, and we’re going to celebrate.”

 _Oh. Oh fuck._ “Let me go, Kaz.”

“Stop being such a baby.” 

Iroh yanked his arms back. He was quite a bit stronger than either Kazai or Matsu. He took a step backwards, glaring. “I hardly think I’m the one being juvenile.”

“Oh please, Iroh. Get off your high-fucking-ostrich horse. It’s a night off. We’re 6,000 miles from Caldera. For once in your goddamned life, just have a good time.”

“Hey!” said Matsu. “Come on, both of you.” His face softened as he looked at Iroh. “We’re just teasing. But we never see you, Ro. You left the Fire Nation when you were just a kid. You practically run Republic City now, if not the United Republic itself, I don’t care who’s president. You married someone from the UR. I know you’re not coming back. We all do.”

Iroh didn’t say anything. It hurt too much to tell Matsu how depressed he’d been during the few months three years ago when he’d thought he’d have to resume palace life. How he’d have days where he’d run until he could hardly stand, and others where he’d do nothing but lie on the couch, staring at the ceiling. How quickly the nightmares had come back, the ones where he was crawling through tunnels that got smaller and smaller and smaller. Trapped. Lost. No one wanted to tell the family they loved so much that actually living with them made you deeply unhappy, or that the best thing you’d ever done for yourself was to leave them behind.

“We get you once or twice a year on holidays, and have to share you with everyone else,” Matsu said. “When was the last time we did anything together? So can’t you let us have this? Just one night? For fuck’s sake, it’s not even your actual birthday. We just made that up so we’d have an excuse to celebrate something.”

“Just have one lousy drink with us, Iroh,” said Kazai. “You’re already here.”


	12. IROH

_Five weeks ago..._

“It’s completely crazy,” Iroh said, waving his hands. “Ships! In this day and age! I can’t believe we’re still using all of those ferries. No one wants to wait for a ferry. Even an air ferry. Airship! Airship, not air ferry. Ship.”

“That’s right, Iroh,” laughed Kazai. He shook him on the shoulder. His fingers made a loud rustling noise against the rough silk of the emerald tunic. “You tell us.” 

“Bridges! That’s the future. Continuous, all the way ‘round. None of this starting and stopping between islands. There’s this new material… I can’t remember the name of it… something…” It suddenly seemed terribly important for Iroh to make himself understood. He’d been feeling downright ill not that long ago, but he’d thankfully turned the corner. He had a ton of energy now. Tongues of energy. Tongues. Tongues were very interesting. 

Matsu grinned. “No one cares, Ro Ro. Come on.” Iroh started running his tongue along the roof of his mouth. The ridges there felt like tiny mountain ranges. At the same time he felt himself pulled by one arm. He slid off the stool, his boots echoing loudly in the crowded tavern. He could feel his own blood rushing just underneath his skin. Iroh broke out in goosebumps at the thought.

“Am I missing someone with the fire?” he asked. That wasn’t quite what he meant to say. He shook his head and tried again. “Am I hot?” No. That wasn’t it either. He couldn’t shake the sense that something wasn’t there, something he very much wanted or perhaps that he was supposed to do? But he couldn’t figure out quite the words to describe it. “Soft,” he said finally. That was closer. He fingered the fine linen of his sleeve. Absent soft.

“No, you’re a dork, Iroh,” said Kazai. The yellow lights danced around his head like a crown. He pulled Iroh forwards. “But don’t worry. We love you anyway.” 

Iroh floated out the door and into the void. After the hum and buzz of the tavern, the dark air thrummed with the absence of sound. He stopped dead, suddenly uneasy. It was so _quiet._

Someone tugged on his arm again. “It’s okay, man. We’re just outside. You know outside, right?”

A snort. “What the hell did you give him?”

“Just a little something to help him relax, like you asked.”

“I said relaxed, not wrecked.”

“Wait. How much did you slip him?”

“Nothing big, nothing major. Double what I do.”

_“Double?!”_

“What? He’s tall.”

“He’s a fucking straight-edge, 

is what he is. Ro doesn’t even drink, Wu. You saw him 

nursing that beer for half an hour like somebody’s grandma. Spirits, no wonder he can’t walk straight. We should take him back.”

“Now, now, now, don't get yourself in a _tizzy._

_Tizzy.tizzy.tizzy.tizzy._

Good ol' General Iroh is a big tough guy. He’ll be fine.” 

“What if we just sit him down for a bit? Somewhere—”

“He’s not freaking out, right? I just wanted him to let himself—” 

“Hey, boys.” A new voice wrapped around Iroh like black velvet. He turned to see a woman detach herself from the shadows. She wore a wide-sleeved silver robe. It glittered softly like stars in reverse. Iroh stared at it, mesmerized. He had no idea how she managed to walk so slowly. “You need something?”

“Depends.”

The dress sparkled quietly, its million constellations wandering across the fabric. Suddenly they all seemed so lost. Iroh felt for them, cast adrift in the darkness of wherever they were. So beautiful, and so alone. He’d often felt like that before, though it had been a long time. He didn’t like thinking about that, but even more so he didn’t like watching it. No one should be that alone. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” A sudden pressure on his arm and the little sun he’d made for them went out. “No fireballs, Ro Ro. Okay? Just… hold it in or something.”

“A firebender, wow. We don’t get a lot of his type around here.” The velvet voice dropped. “If he’s got something he needs to get out of his system, my friends and I can help. We’ve got a little place right over there.”

“Babe Sing Se? Yeah, they know me. The Notorious P.W.U., that’s me.”

“Pew?”

“P.W.U! Prince Wu!”

“You have got to be kidding.”

“It’s great. We should take him. It’ll cheer him right up.”

“I don’t know, man. I think we should just take him home.”

“I like home,” Iroh said. And he did. His couch was green and his fish was orange and his pillow smelled like hair.

“See, General Iroh is homesick. I think I know what would cheer him up: a little visit to Babe Sing Se.”

“He’s going to fucking kill us, Kaz.”

“Oh shut up, Mat. It’ll be fun. And if it isn’t, he probably won’t remember it anyway.”

Iroh felt himself pulled through the void after the woman made of stars. Her wavy dark hair hid the ones on her back. It looked very soft. Then he was inside. It was almost completely dark, but warm and already crowded. It smelled like a gym. Iroh’s arm jerked and he followed it, bumping up against people he could barely see. Music thumped all around him, a solid presence caressing him. Every beat vibrated through his body. Then someone was shoving him down. He relaxed into the chair with a sigh, both wired and exhausted at the same time. Where were they again? 

Suddenly light exploded in front of him. It was so beautiful. Iroh took a deep breath and felt his chest expand. It was amazing. He did it again, stretching himself from the inside out. He ran his fingers along the bottom of the chair. It was metal. He’d never felt anything so smooth. His clothes scratched against his bare skin. Every inch of his body was stretched taut, but in the most pleasant way possible. 

“Hey! It’s my brother’s birthday!” 

“Hi, Mr. Birthday,” another woman said. Her face was made of light, and her voice sounded like singing. Had she always been there? “You want a dance?” Iroh didn’t answer. He was too interested in the lights behind her. They spilled out around her body like a sunburst.

“That’s a yes,” said a voice next to him. “Here, go for it.” 

“What’s he into?”

“High stress job. Just help him relax.”

She smiled at him. “All right, Mr. High Stress Birthday.” She reached down and grabbed his hand. “Follow me.” 

Iroh let himself be pulled to his feet. He felt like he was floating, surrounded by clouds. Then he was down again, sucked into a cloud that was also a chair. A door shut, muting the lights and sounds from wherever he had been. He could still hear the heavy thump of music, like a distant heartbeat. The woman pushed Iroh's legs apart so he was sitting back comfortably. 

“Hello,” he said. Two deep green eyes looked back at him from a face the color of beaten gold. It felt like they’d been friends forever. He could tell her anything, everything. “We saw the northern lights. They were beautiful.”

The woman laughed, a sound like a thousand thousand bells. “He’s funny.” She wrapped one long leg around his side, then the other. Her weight pushed the fabric of his pants into his skin again in a way that was completely entrancing. “You’re funny, birthday boy.”

“Have I told you about the bridges?” he asked. It suddenly seemed very important that his friend knew that one day they would connect the entire Fire Nation with a network of bridges. 

“Military, right? I can always tell. You’re so stiff.” 

Suddenly something pulled tight against his head. A moment later, the same feeling of compression around his arms. A squeak. “Got him.”

His new friend got up. “There wasn’t even a fight. He’s too drunk. After all the stories, to snag the great General Iroh like this. I almost feel bad for him.”

A light flashed. Then another. “Ow,” Iroh said. He tried to turn his head but couldn’t.

“Is that going to be a problem?”

“Not that we’ve found," said the woman in the silver dress. Iroh didn't know where she'd come from. "Alcohol is a depressant. It might actually make him more susceptible. We’ve watched him for a long time, too, of course. He’s smart and focused. Those ones are the easiest. I can’t imagine doing this to Wu. Having the prince three sheets to the wind just means we didn’t have to fight him.”

The light flashed again. 

“Calm down, you’re safe now,” said the woman made of reverse stars. "Iroh." Her voice had dropped to low and soothing. Then a hand slipped up the back of his neck and into his hair. Iroh closed his eyes and shuddered. Every good feeling he had ever had in his life faded to a dull background compared to the scrape of those five fingers against his scalp. The light flashed. It made the dress of stars sparkle. Iroh studied it, fascinated. How many were there? Were there more or less than actual stars?

“Just relax,” she said. His blood roared through his veins. The sound of it was almost deafening. What had she said?

_Flash._

“You’re safe.” Iroh fingered the fabric of his pants. He wondered what it would be like to be fabric, or to live in it, there amongst the mint green peaks and valleys of the weave, and then to have giant fingers come down from the sky.

_Flash._

“My name is Joo Dee.”

_Flash._

“The Fire Nation is strong. As are you.” _But how many stars?_

_Flash._

“It will remain a peaceful, orderly nation.”

_Flash._

“Under your command.”


	13. IZUMI

All mirrors were liars. That was it, surely. Izumi pulled at the corner of her eye, flattening the small network of wrinkles that had somehow crept in and nested there when she wasn’t looking. 

“Oh, quit fussing,” chirped Honora. “You look fine.” That was easy enough for her to say. Honora was one of those amazing, ageless women who could have been anywhere from 45 to 70. She had virtually no wrinkles on her round face, and no age spots, either. Her sleek chestnut hair was just barely frosted with gray around the temples. In fact, the only clue to Honora’s age was her hands. She’s always been an active woman when it came to things like cooking or crafting, even after she’d married into the royal family, and her weathered, knotted fingers showed the impact of a lifetime of steady use. Unsurprisingly, the mild arthritis had barely slowed her down. 

Izumi turned back to the mirror. Her own hair had faded from black to a deep iron gray sometime in her late 40s. It had happened so gradually that she hadn’t noticed. One day she’d simply gotten out of the shower and realized the black wasn’t quite so black anymore. Sometimes she liked the gray though. It made her feel more like someone who could reasonably be called “Firelord.” But most days it annoyed her. Not because it was a problem to have gray hair, but because as a rule she didn’t like things that were out of her control.

“I’m going to take that mirror away from you, dear,” Honora called from across the room. She was pinning her shoulder-length hair up in a swooping curl behind her head. Izumi still had no idea how she did it, especially without looking, but in 37 years of marriage Honora had never once let the servants do her everyday look. “I’m serious. You’re beautiful, and we’re late. Poor Tai is nervous enough without wondering whether or not we’ll show up.”

Izumi sighed and finished with her own hair, a blunt half-knot that was a lot easier to manage than whatever nonsense Honora was doing. It wasn’t like they were going to a ball. She settled the familiar five-pointed Flame of the Firelord into it, straightened her glasses, and called it good enough. She stood, smoothed out her deep red robes, then walked over to Honora.

“I still beat you,” she said, smiling and putting hand on the other woman’s shoulder. “What was that about being late?”

Honora grinned into the mirror as she pinned on one gold earring. “Oh, that’s just something I say to get you moving. If it weren’t for the last minute, you’d never do anything.” 

Izumi swatted her. “I could have you executed, you know.” She walked to the door and slipped into her soft gold slippers. They weren’t going out, only down to the second ballroom. Izumi had always hated shoes, and never wore them if she could help it.

“Pfft. Don’t be ridiculous,” said Honora. She fixed her other earring and stood. “Then you’d never be on time for anything.” 

***

Tai waited in the center of the second ballroom like it was the antechamber to the gallows. She stood ramrod straight in a long dress of deep golden fabric embroidered with flames, tied tight at the waist with a thick black ribbon. Her light honey skin was pale and sweaty, even in the cool of the palace. Izumi’s heart went out to her. She remembered being 18 herself, standing in the same place, in the same dress, with the same challenge before her. Even if Tai would never be Firelord, Investiture was a big deal, and the tasks and responsibilities were the same no matter the child. 

She bowed stiffly, first to Izumi, then to Honora. “Mama,” she said softly. Izumi smiled. Spirits, she looked so much like Honora had when she was younger, all warm copper eyes and soft, rounded curves. The kind of girl who was made to be loved. Izumi wanted to rush forward and sweep her into her arms. Tai was her baby, after all. How was her baby all grown up? All of them were now. Agni be blessed, she was a _grandmother,_ even if she didn’t feel a day older than Tai on the inside. How the time flies. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine,” Honora said beside her. “If Matsu could remember it, so can you.” Tai gave her a stiff smile that looked a bit like she was quietly choking. For a moment her expression reminded Izumi forcibly of Iroh. They looked nothing alike, of course, but her younger children had always been closer in personality than her two eldest. Calm, thoughtful, almost painfully sincere. Tai was friendly and social, far more so than Iroh had ever been, but there was no doubt that she took Investiture with every bit of seriousness that he had. Neither of them had been afraid; that wasn’t it at all. But they approached the process of formally entering the line of succession with a certain gravity that had been less present in her older children. Which, given Tai and Iroh were the farthest from the throne, was interesting to say the least. Kazai had veritably _strutted_ in to his various qualifications, acting for all the world like he was already Firelord, and Matsu had treated the whole thing like a joke. Izumi was proud that she’d raised all of her children to be confident, but sometimes she wondered if they had spoiled the first two a bit.

Honora took her hand and they walked to one of the red sofas that had been pushed against the wall. They would be the only audience today. The bright sunlight slanted through the tall windows, illuminating square patches on the fading red and gold carpet. Dust motes swirled in the sunbeams. It was a little unsettling exactly how much dust there was in the air when one got a good look at it. Izumi reminded herself to talk to Senri about that. She liked to keep things clean.

Finally the far door opened and Master Ruriko walked in. Izumi had no idea how old she really was, but she had been the Fire Nation Master of Histories for as long as she could remember. Short and straight, with large round glasses and a severe black bun, Hata Ruriko had probably forgotten more about the history of the Fire Nation than Izumi had ever learned. She would administer today’s task for Tai, just as she had for Iroh, Mastu, Kazai, and Izumi herself. 

The Tasks of Investiture weren’t as old as the Fire Nation, but they were close. They dated from the Pho Zel dynasty, with the elevation of five-year-old Kozin to Firelord after the death of his father. Various members of his family vied to be puppet master of the bewildered child, eventually edging the country to the brink of civil war. While the intervention of Avatar Ide eventually averted the crisis, it became clear that certain provisions were needed to prevent someone unready or unfit from ascending to the throne. Thus, the Fire Sages created the Tasks of Investiture. The Fire Nation had always had hereditary rule, as far back as unification. However, with Investiture, a child was not legally part of the line of succession until they passed all seven Tasks: Rhetoric, Geography, Logic, Government, Culture, Etiquette, and today’s task, History. If the Firelord should die before any child was Invested, the throne would pass to the eldest next of kin as if there had been no child at all. Generally Investiture was done before 19, the age of legal adulthood. However, there were always exceptions. Iroh had done his Tasks at 17, having wanted to make his place in the family official before he enlisted. Her own father had done them at just 16. Tai, however, had waited as long as possible. She would be 19 in less than a month, and this was only her first. 

Master Ruriko strode across the ballroom floor. She had a surprising amount of energy for someone her age. She turned and bowed to Izumi, then Honora. “My lords,” she said. Then she faced Tai. 

The girl clasped her hands behind her back, a rigid smile on her round face. “M-master Ruriko,” she said, and made her own slight bow. “I am ready.”

Master Ruriko nodded, then adjusted her glasses. “Very well. Today, Tai of the Fire Nation, you take the Task of History. In order to govern the present, we must understand the past. I will ask you a series of ten questions, which you will answer to the best of your ability. I, in my capacity as Master of Histories, will judge your answers as pass or fail. The Firelord is here as witness to ensure the fairness of the test. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“Very well,” said Ruriko. “What is the origin of the Fire Nation?”

“In the beginning, the predecessors of the Fire Nation received the element of fire from the great lion turtles,” Tai began. Her voice was clear and firm, any nervousness left behind as soon as the task began. Izumi was reminded again of Iroh. “This energy was a gift they could request in order to enter the Spirit Wilds, where they gathered food and resources for their people. These early users of fire eventually gathered into a large settlement. That settlement, and those people, became the first Fire Nation…”

Izumi squeezed Honora’s hand. Oh Agni, how fast they grew.


	14. IROH

Iroh stamped his feet on the mat, doing his best to shake the crust of snow off his stiff black boots, then pushed in the door to Chai Dreams. It wasn’t his favorite tea shop, not by a long shot, but it was cozy and quiet and the tables were spread out enough that he often took meetings here. A little bell tinkled and old Edano looked up, then smiled his toothy grin. Iroh waved. There’d be no point denying he’d been in today if anybody asked. After four years at RCCC, the proprietors of every tea shop in the area worth going to probably knew him on sight. It wasn’t just that Iroh was a frequent visitor. He was actually interested in tea, and, not to stereotype, was probably the only 6’1”, 29-year-old man who ever asked about the specials or new blends that arrived. 

Kuvira was already there, seated at a round table near the window. Like him she was dressed casually, her dark hair in its customary braid.

“Good morning,” she said as he walked over. She didn’t use his name or title. There was only one other group in the shop, an older couple seated near the back, and Edano had clearly recognized him, but it seemed she was being cautious anyway.

“Good morning,” he replied with a nod, mirroring her lack of names. He noticed she hadn’t ordered anything. “May I get you something? My treat.” 

Kuvira cocked her head a little. “Bolin tells me you’re into tea. I’ll have what you’re having.” Iroh nodded again, then walked to the back. He took a quick look at the specials, then ordered two cups of Silver Needle anyway. It was pricey, but white teas were mild and delicate, and therefore just the ticket for someone new to tea tasting. While tea wasn’t the purpose of their meeting, Iroh never missed a chance to get somebody hooked. In his experience, most people who didn’t like tea simply hadn’t been given anything worth drinking yet. After a moment’s hesitation he also added a plate of black cherry macarons, telling himself they were part of Kuvira’s tea experience and not simply his favorite. It wasn’t the breakfast he should be having, especially after a dinner of festival food, but he was still a little put out about having to give up his Sunday morning to something that sounded a lot like work.

Iroh walked the two cups back to the table, then returned a moment later with the teapot and macarons. Kuvira reached for the pot, but he stopped her. “Wait. It needs another few minutes.”

“So long?”

Iroh smiled. “Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

Kuvira gave him a searching look. “Yes. I believe that you do. That’s actually why I wanted to talk to you.”

Iroh leaned back in his chair. “All right. How can I help?”

“First, I wanted to get your opinion on Investiture.”

“Investiture? The Fire Nation kind?” That was a surprise. Iroh knew his little sister was about to start her Tasks, but Invesiture was rather obscure, and really only interesting when the crown prince or princess was involved. After that, it was really just formality. Tai would be fourth in line until Lu Ten, Kazai’s oldest son, took his Tasks. 

Kuvira nodded. “The very one.” 

Iroh furrowed his brow a little. “Um. I didn’t realize it was something to have an opinion on.”

“Does it work?”

“Work? Yes, I suppose so,” Iroh said. “One can re-take a Task, though it’s a bit of an embarrassment to do so. No one ever really fails Investiture though. It’s more of a milestone.” 

Kuvira leaned forwards a little. “I meant more, does it do what it is supposed to do?”

Iroh thought about it. In the strictest interpretation, yes. But he got the feeling that wasn’t what she meant. “That’s a complicated question,” he said finally.

Kuvira smiled a little. “That’s what I thought you would say. You have a reputation for being honest.”

“Guilty.” Iroh reached for the teapot, removed the lid, and sniffed. Not quite yet. He sat back and studied his companion, trying to understand what she was after. “Yes,” he said eventually. “To my knowledge, Investiture has prevented someone who has not mastered an understanding of our country, our culture, and basic leadership skills from becoming Firelord.”

“I’m sensing there’s a but.”

Iroh nodded. “Yes. First, there are ways around it, of course. The Tasks are pass/fail, judged by the nation’s top Master in each discipline. But, though there is always a credible witness, a pass or fail is at the Master’s discretion. That can leave it open to irregularities. My grandfather’s case being a very good example of that. Firelord Zuko took the Tasks after imprisoning his sister Azula so that he could become Firelord, even though he was only 16 at the time. Yet he and his uncle, the first Iroh, had spent the previous three years exiled. There was no way he’d be prepared for his Tasks, even if Iroh had been coaching him. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, and there’s no proof, but I always suspected the Masters gave him a bit of a pass just to get someone sane on the throne at the end of the war.”

Iroh checked the tea again. The familiar scent of warm flowers hit his nose like an old friend. Spirits, there was nothing quite like a good cup of tea. He reached over and took Kuvira’s cup in one palm, his own in his other, and started firebending them gently.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Oh, it’s better if the cups are warm.” He gave them another 30 seconds, then filled each to the brim from the pot. He passed one to Kuvira and smiled. “Enjoy.”

She smelled the tea, then took a small sip. Her eyes widened a little. “Wow, that _is_ good. You weren’t kidding, you really know your stuff.”

“See? You shouldn’t have turned me down last time,” Iroh said lightly. In truth, the fact that he and Kuvira had slept together—or whatever one called what they’d done behind that tavern in Zaofu—still made him deeply uncomfortable. Not so much because she’d turned him down flat when he’d asked her out the next day, but because he didn’t quite know how to have a normal, casual conversation with someone he’d done that with. Iroh honestly had no idea how Asami, Mako, and Korra had all stayed such good friends given their history. He was hoping treating the whole thing like a joke would make it a bit easier to process.

Kuvira just laughed. “My mistake. Though you seem to have done all right for yourself anyway.”

Iroh thought of Asami laughing as he brushed snow off his shirt and smiled. “Far more than I deserve, I’m certain.” He took another sip of tea, then reached for a macaron. He popped it in his mouth sighed. The cherry ones really were very good. “Did that answer your question though?” he asked, swallowing. “About Investiture?”

“Mostly. But you said that it’s complicated. I’m sensing there’s something else.”

“I’d think that would be obvious,” Iroh said. “The Tasks of Investiture only test mental ability. That’s not the same as fitness to lead. Some think Investiture means we screen our monarchs, but that’s not true at all. We protect our children from taking on too much responsibility at too young an age, but that’s it. Ozai passed his Tasks with flying colors, as did my great aunt Azula and every other terrible Firelord we’ve had. ”

Kuvira nodded. “That is about what I thought. Second question.”

“You still aren’t going to tell me what this is about?”

“Not yet. Second question. What do you think of Prince Wu?”

Iroh raised an eyebrow. That was a different question entirely. He poured them each a little more tea while he thought. “Do you mean, do I think he’d pass the Tasks if such a thing existed in the Earth Kingdom?” he asked.

“No. Just generally. I know that you sailed with him from Ba Sing Se to Kyoshi Island, and that you spent some weeks with him in Zaofu during the SWE peace talks. So, what do you think of him?”

Iroh paused, unable to decide how honest to be. He stuffed another macaron into his mouth, trying to buy himself a little time. The truth was, he couldn’t stand the man. At the same time, Kuvira was from the Earth Kingdom. This was her future king she was asking about. Yet clearly Kuvira had gone to some lengths to get him alone. He decided that she deserved as much honesty as he could give her while still being polite.

“I think Prince Wu is young,” Iroh said slowly. “He’s inexperienced, and surrounded by nothing but servants, subordinates, and sycophants. He’s not a bad man, I don’t think. With a firm hand and more exposure to the world he might even become a good one. But so far he has only been spoiled and indulged. My hope is that, when he does take the throne, he at least has good advisors as he learns the responsibility of the role. I know the Fire Nation will do whatever we can to support him there if needed.”

“Good answer,” Kuvira said. “Suyin was right. You’re an excellent diplomat. Very well. Final question. Why don’t you want to be Firelord?”

“What?” Iroh was too surprised to say anything more intelligent. Why didn’t he… what? 

“Why don’t you want to be Firelord?” she said evenly. She was looking at him with that hard, determined look he remembered from all those years ago. Like her dark green eyes could see right through him. “Many younger royal children grow to envy their older siblings. To be born so close to power, and yet not have it. But I have it on good authority that you aren’t one of them. Why?”

Iroh wasn’t entirely sure what to say. Becoming Firelord wasn’t an option. But he also knew that he’d never wanted it. He had no idea how Kuvira knew that as well, but it was true. For one, he’d been able to marry for love; not that Kazai hadn’t, but the fact that Asami was neither a noble nor a Fire national might have been more of an issue had Iroh been crown prince. For another, he liked his space, his independence, and his privacy. He’d never cared much for servants or security. He liked his simple life in Republic City, their little apartment, walking to work every day. He also liked being a general, and vastly preferred commanding to the more subtle art of politics. But most of all, he liked being Iroh. _Needed_ to be Iroh, in some ways. The lowest points in his life had been when he’d felt like a man living inside a royal title that had somehow swallowed him. Empty, symbolic, his future determined for him based on _what_ he was rather than who. Iroh couldn’t stand most of the pomp and circumstance of palace life, the endless intrigue, never knowing if someone liked you or only wanted something. The Firelord’s throne room might be the world’s most powerful cage, but it was a cage nonetheless. 

“You know that I would do any duty the Fire Nation asked of me,” he said finally. “I may live in the United Republic, but I love my country. So please don’t get the wrong impression when I say that being Firelord is the very last thing that I want.”

Kuvira’s eyes continued to bore into him. “I believe you. But why?”

“I like simplicity,” Iroh said. It was as close as he could come to untangling his feelings in front of that penetrating gaze. “To be Firelord is to be the leader, not just of a country, but of a nation. Of a people. You’re a symbol as much as a man or a woman. Every action you take has to be weighed, calculated, judged for its impact not just on you, or on those around you, but on the entire Fire Nation.” He shrugged. “I’m a general. I take a lot of advice, and I have accountability, but at the end of the day I give orders and they happen, and if it turns out badly I’m responsible. It’s simple, and it suits me far better than politics. Believe me, I’m more than happy to leave that to my mother and brother.”

Kuvira smiled a little. “Thank you. Another good answer.” She drained her tea, then pushed out her chair. “Excuse me, I need to use the facilities.”

Iroh poured himself a little more tea as she stood. Usually he was good at reading people, but he still had no idea what all of Kuvira’s questions were about. Or rather, it was clear what her questions were about, but not why she was asking them. Why would the head of the Zaofu guard care so much about Prince Kazai and Prince Wu? Or about Iroh’s opinions, for that matter?

Kuvira stepped behind him. All of a sudden, Iroh felt her hand on the back of his head. He immediately felt nauseated. A deep sense of unease, of _wrongness_ settled into his chest. Yet he was unable to pull away. Iroh shuddered as her fingers wound into his hair, at once attracted and repelled by the gentle scrape of her nails on his scalp. Then everything faded.


	15. KORRA

It turned out that Asami wasn’t the only native who had never seen snow in Republic City before. The morning edition of the _Republic City Press_ declared it the first lowland snowfall in 35 years. Korra had snorted into her coffee when she’d unfolded the paper that morning and seen the two-inch headline screaming “SNOWPOCALYPSE” across the front page. As if anyone from the United Republic knew what real snow was. Even up in the mountains they only got a couple of feet. Back in the South Pole they had a word for snow like this, _kitsak,_ or “spit snow.” Not because of what it looked like, but because of what it meant. Snow so light it wasn’t worth spitting at. But the _Press_ was acting like this dusting would throw the whole city into chaos.

Unfortunately, as soon as Korra got off Air Temple Island and into Asami’s satomobile she saw that the paper’s predictions of doom and gloom were all too true. The roads were a mess, with vehicles seemingly stalled and parked at random. Asami dropped the sato into low gear as she steered around yet another fender bender, the fourth they’d passed on the short trip from the ferry to the outskirts of downtown. An old woman in a long purple coat and matching porkpie hat stood on the sidewalk next to two stalled satomobiles, yelling at a baffled young man. He held up both hands, palm outs, then pointed to the icy streets. The old woman continued to shake her finger at him. She didn’t look pleased. Behind the pair, a tall man with a thin mustache toddled past, his long arms full of groceries. It looked like he’d bought every loaf of bread in Hue-Yana’s Mega Mart. Really, what had gotten into everybody? 

“You’re from Republic City,” Korra said eventually. “What’s with the bread thing?”

“The bread thing?” Asami asked. She never took her eyes off the road, for which Korra was grateful. For Asami, she was driving very slowly, but that still meant she was going about twice as fast as everyone else.

“Yeah. That’s the third person I’ve seen walking by with multiple loaves of bread. Is there some traditional UR snow dish that takes a lot of bread or something?”

Asami laughed. “Not that I know of. My guess is it’s a demand shock.”

“A what?” Sometimes Asami slipped into business speak without realizing it. Mako did the same thing with detective stuff. She didn’t think they even knew they did it. Korra’s heart sank a little. It made what she’d wanted to ask Asami today even harder. What if business speak was required? Where did someone learn that, anyway?

“Panic buying,” Asami said. “If people think the snow is going to make it harder to ship in new food supplies, they buy more and hoard it. Others see them buying more and think they suddenly need to buy more, too. Suddenly the shelves start emptying and anyone who thinks they might need bread in the near future is now anticipating a shortage, which makes them buy more than they otherwise would. But bread production doesn’t change. The people create the very shortage they feared.”

Korra mulled that over. It sounded pretty stupid. It wasn’t like it was a five-day blizzard. It was just a little icy. “Why are people so dumb? Can’t someone just tell them to stop buying so much bread?”

Asami shrugged. “You’re the Avatar. How well has ‘hey everybody, do this!’ worked for you?”

 _Hm._ She had a point. More often than not, people did the opposite of what she said. They rode in silence for a while as Asami concentrated on weaving in and out of the stalled traffic. The buildings crept by, eventually changing from the tall highrises of the Point to the low, wide warehouses of the south docks. They trundled through downtown, keeping close to the water, then over the bridge and into the Industrial District. Asami turned left and headed along the bay. They passed two more accidents, though thankfully neither looked serious. Eventually Asami turned again, this time heading into the hills on the outskirts of the city towards the Sato estate. 

The estate never ceased to amaze her. It was practically a castle. It even had turrets. Which made a certain amount of sense, since Asami was technically a princess now. But still. Sometimes Korra wondered what it would be like to have so much money you could have a whole castle outside Republic City that you essentially used for storage. Nobody had lived at the estate for years, and as far as she knew it now mostly functioned as Asami’s workshop and test track. She’d asked once why they didn’t sell it. Iroh had given her some complicated answer about Hiroshi Sato’s legal status in prison. Asami’s answer had been much simpler. “Who the hell would I sell it to?”

They pulled into the drive, then up around the back of the property. The house was mostly closed up this time of year, with only the kitchen and Asami’s old bedroom left usable. But the main house wasn’t where they were headed. Instead, Asami pulled the sato up to the door of the squat, warehouse-sized outbuilding she lovingly called the “workshop.” It was built from the same white marble as the rest of the mansion, but sat a little detached, as if too proud to be associated with the rest of the structures. Korra had sometimes wondered if that physical separation had helped Asami claim it as her own in a way that she’d never really seemed to do with the remainder of her father’s estate. Perhaps the rest of the house had too many memories.

“So, are you going to tell me what it is yet?” Korra asked as the satomobile slowed. “You’re being so hush hush about it all.”

“You’ll see in a minute,” Asami said. She parked, then turned to Korra, her face a little sad. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you more, but I’ve had too many ideas stolen over the years to let information about my mecha prototypes out too far in advance. I don’t like keeping things from you, I swear. Iroh doesn’t even know much about it. But I’ve learned to be careful.”

Korra remembered all too well the fiasco with the smackers. Varrick had hired a P.I. with a telephoto lens to get pictures of Asami’s new mecha in an attempt to steal her plans for Varrick Industries. The resulting photos, which had also happened to show her making out with Iroh at a time they’d been keeping their relationship quiet, had wound up splashed all over the papers in a way that had made both their lives hell for weeks. Not to mention the fact that Varrick’s counterfeit mecha had wound up costing the United Forces hundreds of lives. It was a scar Korra knew Asami still carried, as much or perhaps even more than Iroh, who had technically been in command of the doomed invasion. Needless to day, Asami now guarded her secrets carefully. 

“No problem,” Korra said. “I get it.”

Asami smiled gratefully. “Thanks. But you’ll see in a minute, I promise.”

They made their way into the workshop, Asami first punching a long code into a keypad next to a metal door. More precautions. At first it was too dim to see, the shapes within no more than hulking outlines in the mirk. Then Asami threw a switch.

Korra simply stared. “What the hell _is_ that thing?” she finally managed.

“I call her Mo,” Asami said. 

_“Mo?”_

“After the big guy with no neck who broke Iroh’s cheek that one time.” Korra cocked an eyebrow and Asami shook her head. “Iroh thinks it’s funny. Guess you had to be there.”

Korra took a few hesitant steps forwards. It looked a bit like a mecha tank, but on an unbelievable scale. Whereas a mecha tank was maybe double the height of a person, Mo was the size of a small building. It had four arms with several joints and four thick, powerful legs that ended in what looked like rubber-coated duck feet. Unlike a mecha tank it had no head, the arms and legs instead sprouting from an enormous round ball. This “body” sported several openings that looked to Korra like portholes on a boat, as well as a wider central window that seemed like it might be used by a driver. Enormous treads ran up its shins and down again behind its calves. 

“So... what does it do?” Korra asked. It looked enough like a mecha tank, but she knew Asami had sworn off making weapons after the disaster with the smackers.

“She,” Asami said. She walked over and patted the giant machine on the leg. “I’ve decided Mo’s a girl.”

“She, then.”

“Mo is a mobile clinic.”

Korra walked over to where Asami was standing, then looked Mo up and down again. It was a long way up. “Are you telling me this terrifying piece of mecha is a _hospital?”_

Asami nodded, smiling a little. “She is. State of the art. It’s one of the requests that came up through the RCCC Liaison's office. As Republic City grows, it’s getting harder and harder to maintain travel times to Katara Healing Authority. Especially in some of the neighborhoods with the thickest spirit vines. I thought that, if we can do more with preventive medicine, that would take some of the pressure off KHA. Mo here can walk around the city, servicing different neighborhoods. And if there’s ever an emergency, she can get there fast for on-site triage.”

Korra frowned at her. “You couldn’t put a clinic in a truck or a satobus or something?”

Asami’s smile broadened. “I could, but what fun would that be? The legs are designed to go over the spirit vines to get to some of the harder-to-reach neighborhoods, too. Besides, Mo has other features.”

“Such as?”

“Ocean rescue, primarily. Mo here can swim.”

“Swim? Why?”

Asami’s smile dimmed a little. “The attacks on Republic City have all come from the sea. Surrounded by mountains the way that we are, it would make sense that future threats would go the same way. When the Equalists and then UnaVaatu trashed the UF fleet, it took weeks to clear out the debris. Not to mention all the lives that were lost when the vessels sank.” She patted the leg of the enormous robot again. “Mo here might have been able to do emergency repairs, treat service members still on the injured ships, or even tow a ship into port. So while I hope there’s never another attack, I wanted her to be versatile. That’s also how I got the RCCC to pay for the research.”

It was easy enough to read between the lines. After all, Korra knew as well as anyone that Iroh had almost died when the Equalists had attacked his fleet five years ago. She’d been the one to pull him, unconscious and bleeding, to the surface. What would have happened if she hadn’t been there was fairly obvious. 

“Asami,” Korra said, “you can’t really think that Iroh would be on a ship if there was another attack. There are new fleet commanders now.”

Asami gave her a hard look. “And what, exactly, about Iroh makes you think he wouldn’t be out there anyway, no matter what his position was?”

She didn’t answer. Of course Asami was right. Korra knew because she was the same way. Instead, she looked up at the huge mecha again. “So, what do you need me to do?”

“You’re my best tester,” Asami said. “You’re the Avatar. You can bend every element. You’re also smart, and really hard on equipment. I figure if Mo can survive you, she can survive anyone.” 

“Survive? I thought it—she—was a healing center?”

“Well, Mo is too big to store properly all the time. So I need her to be able to stand up to all weather. Rain, dust, wind, and, now, I suppose even snow. She’s platinum, so she won’t rust and you can’t bend her metal, but that doesn’t mean she won’t take damage. I don’t know where the fire comes in, but it couldn’t hurt to test against that as well. I can see her being useful in building fires, for example. But the point is, if she was ever seriously damaged and fell, it could be catastrophic. I need to make sure that can’t happen. So, I want you to let her have it.”

“Okay…” Korra narrowed her eyes a little. Usually Asami was incredibly protective of her mecha, and neither of them had any illusions about Korra’s bending abilities. They’d fought side-by-side enough. “You mean it?” 

“Yeah,” Asami said. She walked over to a utility sink along the wall and turned on both taps, then stepped aside. She knelt down and picked up something off the floor It looked like a cross between a hard hat and the kind of face mask she used for welding. “Give her your worst.”

Korra laced her fingers together and pushed her palms outwards. Her knuckles cracked with a faint pop. 

***

An hour later found them in the kitchen of the estate. Korra took another sip of her hot chocolate. It was only instant, as Asami didn’t keep much out at the estate, but it was still pretty good. Even Asami’s instant cocoa was somehow fancy. She might not be able to cook worth a damn, but she had good taste all the same. Not that Korra could point fingers. She couldn’t cook either. It was something she’d been thinking a lot about lately.

Asami looked at her over the rim of her blue mug. She’d thrown her hair up in a ponytail. It somehow made her look older, and not in a bad way. Of course Asami was older, but only by a year. Yet often it felt like a lot more than that. It wasn’t the ponytail though, or really anything about how she looked. That was also something Korra had been thinking about a lot.

“So how are the new airbenders shaping up?” Asami asked. 

“I can’t call them new now. It’s been more than two years since we’ve had any new recruits."

"And still no one from the Fire Nation?"

"Nope." It had been a mystery for years, ever since she'd opened the spirit portals. New airbenders had popped up all over the Earth Kingdom and the Water Tribes, but there hadn't been any at all in the Fire Nation. Or at least, any she and Tenzin had been able to find during more than three months there.

"So strange," Asami muttered. "But the old ones must be pretty good by now, right?"

"They still have a lot to learn, but most of them are pretty good. And Jinora has stepped up a lot. Between her and Tenzin, there’s hardly anything for me to do now.” Which was yet another thing that she’d been thinking about.

Asami sighed and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “That must be nice. I’ve delegated a lot at Future Industries, but between that and the RCCC I’m still so busy all the time. It took me ages to build Mo, and I hardly ever just tinker anymore. Once this stupid royal visit is over I’m making Iroh go on vacation.” 

“Where to?”

“Spirits, I don’t even care. Maybe we’ll just bolt the door and spend a week having sex between naps.”

Korra almost spit out her hot chocolate. “That’s… actually, as much as I didn’t need the visual, that sounds pretty good.” That is, it sounded good if you had a door to bolt and someone you liked on the inside with you. Korra, of course, had neither. She and Mako were done, definitely done this time, and even if that hadn’t been the case she couldn’t exactly have him sneaking around Air Temple Island.

Korra thought a moment. It was as good a transition as any though. “Um, can I get your advice on something?” she asked.

Asami glanced at her quickly, her expression hard to read. “Of course. What’s up?”

“Well, you’ve been on your own for a while. Not on your own, I mean you have Iroh now, but you lived alone before that. And you have all your work at Future Industries, and the RCCC role as well.”

“I guess,” Asami said slowly. “I didn’t live alone for very long though. And I didn’t much like it.”

“But I haven’t ever,” Korra said. She may as well just spit it out. “I’m thinking of leaving Air Temple Island. And getting a job.”

“What?” Asami looked over at her again, her eyes wide. “Are you sure?”

“No! I’m not sure at all. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”

“Okay. Well, talk me through it. I thought you were happy there?”

“I am,” Korra sighed. “It’s not that at all. It’s been wonderful living with Tenzin’s family, and being so close to the other airbenders and all of the training facilities. But Asami, I’m not 17 anymore. In a lot of ways, it feels like I’m still living with my family. I’ve never lived on my own, or paid a bill, or anything. I’m worried that I’m missing out.”

“On paying bills?”

“No, it’s not that. Look at the rest of you. Mako and Bolin have been on their own since they were kids. You were running Future Industries at 18. Iroh joined up even younger than that. You all grew up so fast and I… I’m not sure I know how to be a grown up at all.” Korra paused, unsure exactly how to put the vague feelings she’d been having that her life was somehow slipping away from her. “I think if I don’t start soon,” she said finally, “I won’t ever learn.” 

“But Korra, you’re the Avatar,” said Asami. “You’ve done more than any of us, and you have a lot more responsibility.”

“Being the Avatar is a big job, it’s not an all-the-time job. Neither is training the airbenders. What if the world is, you know, mostly fine?”

Asami looked thoughtful. “You’re worried about freeloading?”

Korra shook her head. “Not exactly. I get some money from the White Lotus trust that covers my expenses, but it’s really for the Avatar. I don’t have a whole lot that’s mine, Korra’s, not the Avatar’s. I thought maybe if I moved out, and got a part-time job somewhere, I’d feel more like a regular person. When I’m not, you know, Avataring.”

Asami sipped her cocoa and nodded. “Iroh is kind of like that,” she said. “About Fire Nation stuff. One of the things he likes about living over here is having a bit of a separate identity. What you’re talking about sounds a little like what it would be like if we were living in the palace with his family.”

That was an interesting thought. Maybe she should talk to Fireball about some of this stuff, too. They weren’t as close, but he usually gave good advice. 

“So what’s your question?” Asami asked. “How to tell Tenzin? You know he’ll be devastated.”

“I do know,” Korra said. And he would be. She wasn’t looking forward to that conversation. “But that’s not my question.”

“So what it is it?”

 _Here goes nothing,_ Korra thought. “Asami, can I have a job? At Future Industries?” 

Asami didn’t say anything right away. Korra felt a knot twist in her stomach. She had no idea how to get a job. The one application she’d picked up, from a boutique downtown, had had a long, blank section labeled “Work History.” Korra had written “Avatar” in big block letters, then torn it up and thrown it in the trash.

“Don’t feel any pressure,” Korra said, unable to take the silence any longer. “It was just a thought. I take it back.”

“No, that’s not why I didn’t answer,” Asami said quickly. “I’m only thinking through the implications. Won’t it look bad to have the Avatar working for Future Industries?”

Korra had thought of that, too. “Maybe. But isn’t it kind of like having the head of Future Industries married to the General of the United Forces? The world got over that, didn’t they?”

“Good point,” Asami mused. “Let me think about it, okay?”

It was as good as Korra could have hoped for. She carefully changed the topic, steering the conversation toward catching up on mutual friends. At least she’d made a start.


	16. IROH

The children’s giggles echoed across the park. They were rolling the head now, and were making a fairly good go of it despite having to go farther and farther for fresh snow. The whole thing was quite impressive given how little powder had actually stuck. When they were done, Iroh thought the snowman might be bigger then they were. He also wondered how three boys who had probably never seen snow in their lives knew how to make a snowman. Maybe one of their parents had shown them earlier. It was probably fun, teaching your kids to make something new. One could teach kids all kinds of things.

Iroh smiled a little as he watched them from his bench. He must have been there a while, lost in thought. He couldn’t remember exactly what he’d been thinking about before the kids’ shouts had snapped him out of it, but that wasn’t so uncommon. Iroh had always been a bit of a daydreamer. He should probably go home though. He flexed his fingers, which felt stiff and cold, and felt something soft. He looked down and frowned. Clutched in his hands was a sparkling piece of cloth. He stretched it out and found what looked like a silver and black scarf made of some fine knit material. Iroh didn’t own a scarf like that, and to his knowledge neither did Asami. He had no idea whose it was, let alone why he was holding it. Perhaps he’d picked it up off the ground?

Iroh examined the scarf, puzzled. Then he put it next to him on the bench. If he had picked it up, best to leave it for the owner in case they retraced their steps. He glanced at his watch, which still read 1 and 1, then heaved himself up. He almost fell as a sharp pain shot up his leg. He sat back heavily, yelping in pain. Iroh looked down at his leg and froze. His left calf was dark with what looked like blood, and there was a large vertical tear in his jeans. 

_What the hell?_ Iroh couldn’t remember having cut himself, let alone badly. He bent down and gently pulled aside the torn fabric. There was a long ragged cut in the flesh beneath, perhaps the length of his hand, and deep. It was still bleeding, but slowly, as if the cut were several hours old. 

Slowly, Iroh realized that there was quite a bit more wrong than just his leg. Where was he, anyway? And how had he gotten here. And _why_ had he gotten here? Now that he thought about it, he didn’t remember anything since he’d had tea with Kuvira that morning. 

Iroh slowed his breathing, willing himself not to panic. Instead, he tried to think of the last concrete thing he remembered. He’d left the house that morning after showing Asami the snow. Then he’d walked the six blocks to Chai Dreams. Kuvira had already been there. He’d ordered tea, and they’d talked. First about Investiture, next about Wu, and then that odd question about why he didn’t want to be Firelord. And then… nothing. Try as he might, Iroh couldn’t remember a single thing that had happened between then and watching the children build their snowman. 

He took a few more deep breaths, reaching for something practical to focus on instead of his growing fear. If he couldn’t remember where he’d been, he could at least figure out where he was now. Iroh looked around, trying to orient himself. Luckily, that didn’t prove too difficult. As soon as he turned his back he saw the water, and off to his right the bridge from Midtown to Tiger Ward. He wasn’t usually on the north side of the city, but he was pretty sure that made this Roku Park. Sure enough, Iroh spotted the statue of the tall, bearded Avatar Roku in the far corner of the snowy field. 

_All right,_ Iroh thought. He looked down at his leg again. He could probably walk on it, at least a little bit, but it was going to hurt a lot. This was more than a patch job, too. He needed medical attention. But finding out what the hell had happened to him seemed a lot more pressing at the moment. Iroh braced himself on the metal arm of the bench and stood on his right leg. Then he slowly lowered his left foot, testing his weight. Pain flared in his calf as his muscle flexed, but Iroh gritted his teeth and managed to stay upright. _One step at a time,_ he thought. _Just have to make it to a cab._

Iroh leaned over, picked up the black and silver scarf, and stuffed it in the pocket of his thick red parka. It wasn’t much, but it was a clue. Now all he needed was a detective.


	17. ASAMI

Asami put the sato in park and finally let herself relax. In all honesty the roads were fine. But the _people,_ spirits, what a disaster. She’d been just as surprised at the snow as anyone, but it seemed like it had given everyone else license to go absolutely crazy. It wasn’t just the other satomobiles, either. On both the drive out and back there had been people all over the roads, jogging out between parked vehicles or crossing at lights whenever they chose. Asami had more driving experience than most, and even she’d had one or two close calls today. She would be very surprised if tomorrow’s headlines didn’t report some injuries. 

As she and Korra made their way to the elevator she caught herself humming a little anyway. Something she’d heard Iroh singing the other day but couldn’t quite place. Asami wasn’t really into music, neither of them were, but Iroh had a nice voice and over the years he’d gotten more comfortable singing little bits of things around her. Asami mostly hummed, especially when she was in a good mood but not paying attention. And today, despite the weather, she had every reason to be in a good mood.

The tests she’d done with Korra—or rather, watched Korra do—on Mo had been a spectacular success. Asami didn’t have much experience working with platinum, but the material had held up wonderfully against everything the Avatar had thrown at it. What’s more, so had the much more vulnerable parts of the mecha, such as the leg joints and the treads. There were some improvements to be made for sure—one of the rubber feet had melted completely, so she needed to look into some of the fire retardant synthetics—but overall she couldn’t have been more pleased. President Osion might not like investing in projects like Mo, but Asami couldn’t help think that the public response might be enough to sway even her. And while she still wanted to think some more, the process had also given her an idea of how she could help Korra with a job.

“That good, huh?” Korra said with a smile. She must have caught her humming. 

“What’s not to like?” Asami said. “Good work, good friends, and shortly good food.” 

“Are you sure it’s not a problem?” Korra asked.

“Oh please. If there’s enough dinner for two there’s enough for three, and Iroh had plenty of special attention last night.” She’d told Korra about most of their make-up birthday adventure, including stumbling upon the Winter Spirits Festival on the west side. She’d tactfully left off the ending though. Some things even your closest girlfriends didn’t need to know. 

Asami knocked twice as she pushed in the door to the apartment. “Iroh, Korra’s here, make sure you have pants on!” she called. Korra raised her eyebrows. “Don’t worry, I’m just messing with him,” she laughed. Teasing Iroh had always been its own particular pleasure, and getting him to loosen up around other people was a lifelong project she’d happily taken on years ago. 

The apartment, however, was dark. Asami frowned slightly. That was a bit of a surprise. Iroh had known she was going out to the estate today, but he hadn’t said anything about having plans himself and Sunday was the one day he usually didn’t work out. She’d expected to find him curled on the couch with a book, or hunched over the big puzzle that had lately taken over the dining room table, a jigsaw of the Great Divide that was mostly brown and nearly impossible. He must be running errands or something. It wasn’t the kind of day to hang out outside, but Iroh had never liked being cooped up. Maybe he’d even just gone for a walk.

“Well, stay for dinner anyway,” Asami said to Korra. “I’m not sure where Iroh is, but if he’s not back soon we’ll order in.” No one wanted Asami’s cooking, herself included. The problem wasn’t that she couldn’t cook. It was that she found cooking dismally boring. She was an inventor, after all. Following a recipe was about as interesting to her as following someone else’s technical specs. She would usually start off well, then get distracted or thrown off-track. The results were uninspired at best and at worst… well… Iroh might be the firebender, but the extinguisher under the sink was for her. Come to think of it, Iroh cooking and her cleaning up had been something they’d fallen into almost as soon as they’d started traveling together, long before they’d been a couple. When Iroh didn’t cook, she either snacked or got delivery.

Asami put down her bag and took her coat off as Korra stepped in behind her. That’s when she saw it. The note she’d left for Iroh that morning, still tucked under his teacup on the counter. 

“I don’t understand,” she said softly, picking it up. It was still folded and unread, the little “I” on the front clearly visible. Under their cups on the counter was where they always left notes to each other; if he’d been home, there’s no way he would have missed it. A worm of worry twisted in her stomach. “He should have been back hours ago.”

“What’s going on?” Korra asked, peering over her shoulder.

“Iroh went to meet Kuvira for breakfast, remember? But the note I left him is still here.”

Her friend shrugged. “Maybe he did something after?” 

“Maybe.” But Asami wasn’t convinced. Even if he had done something after, he would have come home first, or at the very least called to let her know the change of plans. It wasn’t that they had to keep tabs on each other all the time. Rather, Iroh wasn’t the type to break his word. If he’d said he’d be back in a few hours, he’d be back. Unless, of course, something had prevented him from coming home.

Suddenly the phone rang. Asami jumped, then rushed over and picked it up. “Iroh?” she said into the receiver. Instead, she heard Mako’s voice. 

“Asami, thank goodness. I’ve been trying you for half an hour. I called out to the estate, too.”

“We just walked in. Mako, what’s wrong?” She could tell from his voice that this wasn’t a social call. 

“Iroh’s here,” Mako said. “At my apartment.” Asami sagged a bit in relief. She hadn’t realized how worried that little unread note had made her. 

“Are you guys okay?”

“He’s telling me to tell you yes, but honestly I’m not sure. I think you’d better come over here.” A pause. “You said we. Is Korra with you?”

“Yes.” Asami was already gathering up her things. Nothing would have stopped her from going to Mako’s apartment at that point, even if he hadn’t asked her to come. She trusted his assessment of “okay” far more than what Iroh seemed to want her to hear.

“Good. Bring her, too. We could use a healer.”

***

Asami took the stairs to Mako’s red brick walkup two at a time. Mako opened the door at the first knock. He was in nothing but dark pants and an undershirt, as if he’d been surprised and hadn’t yet thought to get dressed. One look at his face confirmed everything she’d been thinking on the short drive over. He looked not only worried, but scared. 

“That was fast,” he said, stepping aside to let her and Korra inside. “Not that I’m surprised.”

“She drove so fast I thought we were going to die,” said Korra, but Asami was hardly listening anymore. Iroh was stretched out on the blue couch just inside the door, facing away from them. He’d stripped down to his t-shirt and was wearing a pair of gym shorts that she didn’t recognize. His left leg was propped up on the coffee table, the lower part wrapped in what looked like a white dish towel. Iroh tipped his head back and smiled up at her, but his expression looked pained. It was then that she noticed a half-filled tumbler of what looked like straight liquor clutched in one hand. The knot of worry in her belly twisted even tighter. Iroh hardly ever drank, and the only times she’d seen him take a drink like that outside of special occasions was when he was deeply rattled. What the hell had happened to him?

“Hey,” he said. His eyes had a wide, staring look. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Asami quickly knelt next to him on the couch and gave him a quick once-over. It wasn’t clear what was wrong with his leg, but that at least seemed the only obvious injury. “Iroh, what’d you do?”

He took a big swallow of his drink and grimaced, then closed his eyes and rubbed at his face. She could smell the whiskey on his breath. When he looked at her again, it was with an expression she'd hardly ever seen on his face: fear. “Asami, I have no fucking idea.”


	18. MAKO

Mako covered the receiver as Iroh let out a blue string of curses so long and creative it would have made even some of his old Triple Threat Triad associates blush.

“Everything all right there, Detective?”

Mako pursed his lips. “Friend of mine is having a bad day. Thanks for the information, sergeant. I appreciate it.” He hung up and turned back to the rest of the group. He had a sinking feeling “bad day” didn’t even begin to cover it.

“Wow, Fireball,” Korra laughed. “I didn’t know you had that in you.”

Asami leaned down and kissed Iroh’s forehead from where he now rested against her chest. “United Forces to the core. I’m sure they’re very proud of you.”

“That…” Iroh trailed off and bit his lip, then huffed out a breath. “Hurt.” 

“You’re the one insisting on army field medicine instead of regular healing,” Korra said. Mako detected a slight pout in her voice. She popped the cork back in the bottle of Queen’s Lightning that he’d pulled out from the back of the cabinet. At least they’d finally found a use for that garbage. 

“Have to be sure,” Iroh said. He sat up a little more. “And it’s definitely not instead of. I’ll take any waterbending you offer now. But I’ve learned to be careful. I have no idea what I cut myself on or when, and I’ve had enough trips to Zaofu to last me a lifetime.” Mako thought he certainly had a point there. He hadn’t known Iroh the first time he’d been hospitalized with an infected wound, but the two weeks he’d been unconscious a few years ago had been some of Mako’s darkest since getting off the streets. Privately, he’d been convinced that Iroh was going to die. The thoughts that had come with that—about how to support Asami through yet another tragedy, about what Mako had been doing with his own life, and about how short that life might actually be—hadn’t been good ones.

There was a knock at the door. Mako walked across from the kitchen and opened the front door to find Bolin, Opal, and Kuvira. Good. Hopefully this would be the start of more answers. He tried as hard as he could not to meet Kuvira's eyes though. Mako hadn't told anyone about their date, or what had happened after, and he wasn't sure that she had, either. He didn't want to make it any more awkward than it already was. Especially since half of his friends were sitting on the couch where they'd... yeah. Definitely not mentioning that.

“Was that you, I?” Bolin asked. “We could hear that from the bottom of the stairs.”  _ Great. _ That meant that the old biddies in the apartments next to and below him had heard as well. They already complained about his schedule, “stomping up and down the stairs at all hours like no decent young man,” and he just knew that come tomorrow he’d hear about it.

“Spirits, no wonder,” said Opal. While Mako had gotten the door, Korra had started bending water back and forth over Iroh’s calf. The water glowed faintly blue as the healing kicked in. “What happened?” 

“I was hoping to find out the same thing,” Iroh said. “Just give me a minute.” He settled back against Asami on the couch and closed his eyes, looking for all the world like he was getting a foot massage instead of having half his leg stitched shut. Fucking army guys. 

“All set,” said Korra not long after. She bent her water back into the bowl that Mako had set on the coffee table and patted Iroh’s leg. “You should still wrap it up, but you’ll be able to walk now.”

Mako laughed. “He walked here all the way from Roku Park.”

“Iroh, that’s over a mile away!” Asami gasped. “You didn’t tell me that.”

Iroh shrugged a little and flexed his foot. The long cut had been replaced with a bright pink line of barely healed flesh. “No cabs in this weather,” he said, taking his foot off the coffee table and then shifting over so he was next to Asami on the couch. “Couldn’t just sit there.”

“Will someone tell me what’s going on?” Bolin asked loudly. “Guys, I’m completely lost.”

Iroh proceeded to tell the newcomers more or less what he’d told Mako and then Korra and Asami. “So I came here,” he finished. “Mako called the rest of you while I rested a bit—”

“While you pounded a half a fifth of whiskey,” Mako said.

Iroh shot him a look. “While I rested. Korra helped with my leg, and here we are.” He turned to Kuvira, who had pulled over one of the chairs from the table and was now sitting facing the couch. “Kuvira, you might be the best place to start. Do you remember anything from this morning? When did I leave? Do you know where I went? Was I… was I acting strangely?”

Kuvira pursed her lips, then shook her head slightly. “I’m not sure how much I can help you. As you said, we met up this morning. We talked for a bit, about the topics you mentioned, then I went to the bathroom. When I came back, you were gone. I thought something I said had offended you.”

“Just gone?” Mako asked. “He didn’t say anything, leave a note, or take anything?”

Kuvira looked thoughtful. “Iroh ordered a plate of cookies with the tea. He had one or two while we talked, but when I came back from the bathroom, they were all gone, as was he.”

“So Iroh is the cookie monster,” Bolin said.

Iroh himself only frowned. “Nothing else?” Kuvira shook her head again.

Mako steeled himself. He’d been hoping that something Opal’s sister would say would give Iroh an alibi, or at least a credible shot at being somewhere else. But she’d lost track of him at the same time he’d apparently lost track of himself. Mako had to tell him. And he had to report it, no matter how good of friends they were. 

“Yes,” Mako said firmly. “Iroh, there’s something else.”

Iroh looked up at him. “What?”

“Are you  _ sure _ you don’t remember anything? Anything at all?”

His friend shook his head. “I swear. Nothing. Not a thing between the hours of, say, 10am and about half an hour before I showed up at your door.”

“Does the name ‘Fan’ mean anything to you?”

Iroh pressed his lips together, then shook his head. “No.”

“What about a young woman.” Mako glanced down at the pad of paper he’d had by the phone. “About 5’2”, shoulder-length brown hair, brown eyes, wearing a long blue coat?”

Iroh shook his head again. “Not in particular, no. It’s possible I may have passed someone like that at some point, but it’s certainly not anyone I remember. Why?”

Mako’s heart sank. This wasn’t going to be easy. Best to just spit it out. “I called down to the station on a hunch. That’s who I was on the phone with just now. That silver scarf, Iroh. It belongs to a woman named Fan, fitting the profile I just described. She came in a little after noon today to report an assault. She said a man grabbed her on the corner of 5th and Republic. He tried to choke her with her scarf, but she was able to get away when she took it off. She said he was…” Mako checked his notes again. “He was ‘raving about stars and bridges and the northern lights. He kept telling me I was beautiful and that he wanted to help them, whoever them was. He was completely crazy.’” Mako looked up. “The description she gave of this guy was 30s, about six feet tall, light skin, thin to average build, short black hair, and light brown or gold eyes. He was wearing a red winter coat.”

Asami turned to Iroh, her mouth slightly agape. To his left Mako heard his brother suck in a breath.

Iroh himself had gone completely white. “I… I hurt somebody?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

Mako didn’t answer. 


	19. IROH

The door of the metal cell clanged shut. 

“I’m not just leaving you here!” Asami was nearly shouting. She pounded at the door. Her green eyes through the small opening were furious, panicked. Iroh made himself look at them anyway. Anger was better than pain, than hurt. He had to keep her safe, whatever the cost. 

“Yes, you are,” he said firmly. He looked past her to Mako. “Can I trust you? I know how persuasive Asami can be, believe me.”

Mako’s face was pale, but he nodded. “No one comes in or out without Chief Beifong’s say so. This isn’t in my hands anymore, I. I couldn’t let you out if I wanted to.” 

“Good.”

“No!” Asami pressed her face to the little window. “Iroh, this is ridiculous, you’re fine, I haven’t seen anything—”

“Stay away from me!” he roared. Asami jumped back and stumbled into Mako. Iroh spun and stalked back to the far wall and sat down hard on the single bed. The chain between his cuffs rattled. He’d made Mako leave them on. It was very difficult to firebend in handcuffs. It wouldn’t stop someone of his talent, not entirely, but it should prevent him from doing any major damage. Even in a tungsten steel F-cell like this, Iroh wasn’t fooled. He knew what he was capable of. Or at least, he used to think he did.

Asami stared at him through the opening in the cell, her face white with shock. He’d never raised his voice to her in anger, not once in the five years they’d known one another. But he’d also never been this frightened. All the things they’d seen and done together, all the close calls and desperate situations, all the times he knew, just knew, that he was going to die, Iroh had finally found the thing that scared him most: himself.

He looked away, suddenly ashamed. “What if it had been you?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “Spirits, Asami, what if it had been you?” He shook his head. “I couldn’t live with that.”

“Iroh, we don’t know… it could be anything, we don’t even know it was you, or…” Asami trailed off. They both knew it had been. It was too big a coincidence otherwise. 

“It’s just a precaution,” said Mako. Iroh couldn’t see him anymore now that he was sitting down. The panel in the door wasn’t very big.

“I can’t believe you’re letting him do this,” Asami snapped. “I thought you were his friend.”

“I am!” Mako sounded defensive now. “He asked for it. And I, for one, agree with him. Until we know what’s going on, everyone is safer. Including Iroh, by the way. Remember his leg?”

Asami huffed. Then she moved her face to the window again, though not as close as before. Her expression was softer now, her eyes full of concern. “We’re going to figure this out,” she said. “I promise.”

Iroh tried to smile. “I know.” He knew no such thing, but it seemed the right thing to say. Whatever would keep her and his friends at arm’s length.

“This is crazy,” Asami said quietly. “Iroh, this is completely crazy.”

Iroh looked around the 6’x8’ cell. No windows. No door handle. Nothing but a bed, a toilet, and wall after wall of three-inch thick fire-resistant steel.

Crazy was exactly how he felt. 

***

A knock sounded at the door of the cell. Iroh looked up. Asami had returned about 20 minutes after he’d locked himself up with a thermos of tea, a take-away sandwich, and, blessing of all blessings, a book. It wasn’t anything amazing, just a collection of detective stories she’d found at the corner store, but it got him out of his head a little and helped pass the time. Being locked up was, among other things, very boring. Unfortunately, Iroh had some experience in this area.

“Hello?” he said. He couldn’t see out of the cell, so there was no way to tell who had knocked.

“General.” Iroh stood. He’d recognized the voice. “I’m going to need you to come with us.”

“Of course.” The panel in the door slid back to reveal the pale green eyes of Lin Beifong, Republic City’s long-time police chief. He could just see the tops of the two scars on her cheek. 

“How are you feeling?” she asked. There was no mistaking the tone. Though he’d known Chief Beifong his whole life, it wasn’t the caring inquiry of a family friend. It was a request for a situation report.

Iroh glanced down at his handcuffs, then gave his cell a pointed look. “It’s like I’m on vacation.”

The chief shook her head. “All right, wise-ass. At least I know it’s you in there.” There was a loud thunk as she unlocked the cell. “Come on out. Firebend and I’ll drop you.”

“I’d expect nothing less.” One of the world’s most accomplished metalbenders, she was one of the few people who could probably do it, too. Iroh stepped out of the cell to find two other officers, a middle-aged man with very obvious water tribe heritage and a woman, almost a girl really she was so young, with the light tan skin and gray-green eyes of the northern Earth Kingdom. Behind them stood Mako, his face grim. Good. Four on one, and probably all benders. At least Lin was taking this seriously. 

“Follow Detective Mako,” said the chief. She nodded to the other officers and they each took up a place on either side of him. “Interrogation room 1.” Iroh started walking and Lin fell in behind him. He nodded his approval. Putting the strongest bender at the back instead of in the lead was a smart move, and in his opinion generally a good way to tell the competent from the arrogant. But she wasn't the head of RCPD for nothing. 

Mako led them up a flight of stairs, then turned right down a long hallway full of windows. He wordlessly unlocked a door and motioned for Iroh to enter. The room had a table, four chairs, and nothing else. Iroh went to pull out one of the chairs, then stopped. He’d been in plenty of interrogation rooms over the years, but never on the side of the table facing the window, which of course wasn’t a window at all but a one-way mirror. He moved his hand from the back of the chair and walked around, instead taking a seat facing the mirror. He caught a glimpse of himself—pale, disheveled, and wearing a bizarre combination of a wrinkled gray button-down shirt, black boots, and Mako’s gym shorts above his bandaged calf. He reached up and tried to finger comb his hair into something vaguely presentable. Iroh didn’t want to look any more like a madman than he already felt.

“Detective Mako, see if you can find some coffee,” Lin said. “Officer Raimo, please fetch Miss Fan for the ID.” She gave Iroh a look. “I assume you’re cooperating enough I can tell you that?” 

Iroh nodded. “Whatever you need.”

“Very well.” Mako and the female officer, apparently Raimo, left, leaving Chief Beifong and the water tribe officer, a stocky man with reddish hair and deep blue eyes. He took a seat opposite Iroh and pulled a small notepad from his pocket. 

“I’m Detective Nanatauk,” he said. “Thank you for coming in voluntarily.”

“What can you tell me?” Iroh asked. “Who is this Fan woman? Do I know her? Is she all right? And has anyone else—”

Nanatauk held up a hand. “I’ll be the one asking the questions, Iroh.” 

Iroh stopped. No title. No “general” or “prince” or even a “sir.” He wasn’t generally one to fuss about formality, especially these days, but he didn’t know Detective Nanatauk from anyone. If he already had so little respect for Iroh that he’d dropped all his titles, he must already be convinced that he didn’t deserve them. That was interesting, and not in a good way.

“All right,” he said slowly, trying hard not to bristle. “What can I tell you?”

They started by going over his story, where he’d been and what he’d done that day to the extent that he remembered, then the day before as well. Iroh answered as truthfully as he could, with the exception of what he and Asami had done after they’d gotten home last night. Some things were simply private. 

All through the interview, Chief Beifong was silent. She appeared to be studying Iroh, watching his face and his reactions more than listening to his words. As she did, he realized that it was probably highly unusual to have the chief of police herself involved in an investigation of something as relatively minor as assault, let alone only to stand silently by. Sure, Iroh was a rather high profile figure, and his family and Lin’s had been close since their grandparents’ time, but he hadn’t even been charged with anything. It was also Sunday, so it was unlikely she’d simply been hanging around the station. There was something else going on, something they weren’t telling him. 

There was a soft knock at the door and then Mako rentered, four cups of coffee balanced precariously on a small tray. He put them on the table, then handed the one on the end to Chief Beifong. “Sugar,” he mumbled. Then he picked up a cup and stepped back into the corner. “Rest are the same.”

Detective Nanatauk took one of the two remaining cups and drank deeply. Iroh stared at the last cup for a moment before picking it up and sniffing it. He didn’t much care for coffee, but it wouldn’t hurt to be polite. He took a sip and tried not to grimace at the bitter taste. Why did people drink this stuff? May as well drink gasoline.

“What can you tell me about Pier 5?” Nanatauk asked abruptly. He set his coffee down on the table, his blue eyes suddenly a bit too interested, his movements too slow. The change was subtle, but Iroh caught it anyway. He’d always been good at reading people, and he got a sense that this was what Detective Nanatauk had been waiting 20 minutes to ask him.

“Um.” Iroh thought for a moment. It seemed like the question had come out of nowhere, but it must be important. He took another polite sip of coffee while he thought.  _ Pier 5… Pier 5…  _ He pictured a map of Republic City and counted in his head. He’d always been better visually. “Isn’t that one of the north docks?” Iroh asked finally. “It’s not used by the United Forces, but I think that’s where Pier 5 would be. I know they go in order.” 

Nanatauk didn’t answer. Instead he asked, “So you’re not familiar with that pier?”

“Not particularly. I run by there occasionally, but that’s about it. I think it’s one of the city ones though, not commercial. Right?”

The detective made a note. “So you would have no reason to have been there today?”

Iroh looked at him, surprised. “No. Not that I can think of. I honestly couldn’t even tell you what’s docked there. Why?”

Nanatauk gave him a hard look. “So you would be surprised to learn that blood was found on the security fence surrounding Pier 5 this evening. Someone did their best to clean it up, but our pygmy shirshu found it all the same. She also found a small quantity of fibers, fibers that had caught on the barbs atop the fence. With the shirshu’s help, Detective Raimo and I matched those fibers to a pair of torn pants located at Detective Mako’s apartment.” Nanatauk nodded in Mako’s direction. “Pants he said that you were wearing when you came to him.”

Mako shot him a guilty look. But the man was only doing his job.

Iroh only shook his head, baffled. “Like I said, I don’t remember anything about a lot of today. That includes any time I may have spent at this pier. It’s certainly possible I could have been there, and climbing over the fence could explain how I cut myself as well. But I honestly don’t know.”

“You’re telling me that blood, your blood, was found at a place you say you not only don’t remember going, but have no connection to whatsoever? I’ve seen blackout drunk before, but it looks like you tried to climb the fence. The blood and fibers were on the barbed wire at the top. That fence is 12 feet high, Iroh. No one just stumbles up there. You think I’m an idiot? There’s no way you did that by accident.”

For the first time since entering the room, the chief spoke. “That’s enough, Nanatauk.” She turned to Mako. “Detective, did Miss Fan ID?”

At first Mako said nothing. Then he slowly nodded. 

Chief Beifong pressed her lips into a thin line, then huffed out a breath. “I was hoping we’d be wrong.” She met Iroh’s eyes. “I’m going to have to hold you for this.”

“What’s at that pier, Lin?” Iroh asked. Holding him was no matter. He was already here, and he’d be damned if he’d be anywhere else until he knew for sure he wasn’t going to hurt anybody. “You can at least tell me that. If I blacked out and tried to get in, it might be important. And I’m still head of city defense.”

“No,” said Nanatauk. “What you are is under arrest for trespassing and assault.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” said Iroh, confused. “I’m here voluntarily.”

Chief Beifong shook her head. “I’m sorry, Iroh. Not any more, you’re not.”


	20. BOLIN

Bolin was used to having no idea what was going on. But this was intense, even for him. 

They were standing in a half circle in a small metal cell in the basement of the Republic City Police Department, they being himself, Korra, Asami, Mako, Mako’s boss, two other police officers that he’d seen around but whose names he couldn’t remember, and a healer, Master Yue. They barely fit, but nobody wanted to leave. The only people who weren’t there were Kuvira, who had said she needed to make a phone call, and Opal, who had gone with her so they could then go pick up the take-away Korra had ordered from down the street since no one had much of a mind to go home. It seemed like dinner would be in the RCPD lobby tonight.

In front of them all laid Iroh. He had stretched out on the narrow prison bed at the back of the cell, because that’s where they were, prison, and apparently he’d been arrested? Bolin had only caught about half the story over Asami’s yelling. Iroh seemed to be taking it more or less in stride, but his wife was having none of it. They were funny that way. Asami was usually pretty fun, but as soon as Iroh was in danger, which with that guy was basically always, she got real scary real fast. Not irrational scary, but a kind of practical, problem-solvy, how-many-explosives-do-I-need-to-save-Iroh? scary that always seemed to involve lots of mecha and/or threatening people with bodily harm. Sometimes Bolin wondered why she’d married a soldier if she wanted a partner who was safe all the time, but he was a firm believer that you couldn’t help who you loved. Besides, Iroh wasn’t any better. He was maybe the nicest, chillest guy he knew but man, you laid one finger on Asami and he’d just straight up kill you, wouldn’t even bother firebending he’d just snap your neck like, bam! Okay, so maybe he was exaggerating. But not much. 

Bolin wondered what he’d do if someone tried to lock up Opal. He pictured her adorable face and big green eyes behind bars and all he could think of was busting in the door like Nuktuk, preferably shirtless, throwing her over his shoulder, and beating up the guards with one fist and some truly impressive earthbending while he carried her to safety. 

Love is weird. 

At any rate, they were all in the station’s special firebender prison cell with Iroh now, Asami because she wouldn’t leave him, Mako because he wasn’t allowed to, the two other officers and Chief Beifong in case Iroh went crazy again, Korra because she wanted to supervise, and Bolin because he couldn’t think of anywhere better to be. Master Yue, who was apparently Iroh’s usual healer, knelt next to him on the floor. He looked more like an airbender than a waterbender because he was old and bald, but waterbending was what he was doing anyway. At the moment, he was focusing on Iroh’s leg, which he’d unwrapped from the bandages again.

“Well, there is nothing unusual about the wound,” he said, pulling the lightly glowing blob of water away from his calf. To Bolin the pink line of healed flesh looked slightly smaller now. “And nicely done, Avatar Korra. You might have a slight scar, General, but it will be minor.”

Iroh sighed a little. “So what else is new. But you’re sure? No poison or anything? Hallucinogens?”

The healer shook his head. “Not that got in that way, at least. I’d like to check the rest of you though. Of course I can’t rule out something more serious like a stroke until I have a look at your head as well.”

 _“Stroke?”_ Asami choked. “He’s not even 30!”

Master Yue shifted over to kneel in front of Iroh’s torso. “It’s rare, but it happens,” he said, not looking up. “I don’t want to scare anyone, but the general told me to always give it to him straight, so I am.”

“Thank you,” Iroh said. Bolin thought his friend sounded tense. Who could blame him? If his choices had between finding out he’d been poisoned, finding out he’d had a stroke, or not finding out anything at all, he honestly wasn’t sure which one he’d pick. 

“This will be more effective if I can reach the skin, General,” said Master Yue, balancing the water ball between his hands. “I’ll need you to undress as much as you’re comfortable.”

Iroh glanced up at the circle of friends and police officers clustered around him. His cheeks went a little pink. “Um.”

“Out,” said Asami firmly. She hooked one finger over her shoulder. “Now.”

“I can’t leave him alone with Master Yue,” Chief Beifong said. “There needs to be at least one officer present.”

“Fine,” huffed Asami. “Mako, stay here. Everyone who hasn’t seen Iroh naked, you’re not starting today. Out.”

“I haven’t seen Iroh naked!” Mako protested. “Why do I have to stay?”

“I don’t want him in here, either,” said Iroh. His face was bright red now. “You know what, never mind, I’m probably fine.” He started to get up.

“Iroh!” Asami snapped. “Sit down and get naked. Mako”—she spun—“stop acting like you don’t have the exact same equipment and help your good friend not murder his healer.” Iroh sat, grumbling something that sounded to Bolin like “not the _exact_ same,” and started to unbutton his shirt. Mako rolled his eyes but stayed put. Master Yue, to his credit, seemed completely unruffled. Everyone else started filing out.

Korra burst out laughing as soon as the heavy cell door shut. “Iroh!” she wheezed. “Sit down and get naked! Oh man. I just bet that’s what their sex life is like. The general gives the orders during the day, but at night…” Korra dissolved into a fit of red-faced giggling. 

Bolin stared at her streaming face and almost held it together, then made the mistake of looking at Chief Beifong. The older woman stood there, her back rigid, lips pressed so far together in disapproval that she may as well not have had any. It was the contrast that did it. Bolin lost it. He doubled over, heaving. 

“Mako’s face!” he howled. “Haven’t seen… naked…” He almost couldn’t breathe, it was so funny. In a lot of ways, his brother was a bit of a prude. Bolin had only been six when they’d started living on the street and as a result had never had much of a sense of privacy. He’d get naked for anyone, anytime, anywhere. Bodies were just bodies. Everyone had one. But Mako… was Mako. The idea of him standing there, stone-faced, watching Iroh strip was about the funniest damned thing Bolin could think of.

Because really, when the choices were poison, a stroke, or some other mystery ailment, what else were your best friends supposed to do? Everything besides laughing was unthinkable.

***

Bolin shook his head. They were upstairs in the lobby now with Opal, who had just returned from picking up the food. Apparently she and Kuvira had gone there first before her sister made her phone call. 

“I still don’t understand,” he said. “Iroh would never hurt anybody. He might be a big scary general dude, but that’s only while generalling.” He looked at Korra. “He’s never hurt anybody not in a war, right?”

“What about that Triple Threat thing?” Korra said. Bolin had forgotten about that. He hadn’t been there, but Mako said he had seen Iroh kill two men in under 20 seconds. It had been necessary, but it definitely hadn’t been a war. 

“Oh.” He sat back into the chair. “But he’s never hurt not a bad guy, right?”

“I don’t think so,” Korra said. She opened one of the bags, then closed it again, as if forcing herself to wait. 

“It’s probably just some big misunderstanding,” said Opal. She reached out and wound her fingers into his. That was one of the great things about Opal. She always seemed to know when Bolin needed comforting, sometimes even before he did himself, and her hands were exactly the right size for his.

“Yeah, probably,” he said. Honestly, he wasn’t sure. Bolin loved Iroh, and would never have believed he’d hurt an innocent person on purpose, let alone a non-bending woman half his size. None of his friends would. But if something was wrong with his head? 

Speaking of friends, was Iroh going to have to eat down in the jail by himself? Korra had ordered enough five-flavor soup and seaweed noodles for everybody, but he wasn’t allowed out of the cell and without a lot of police supervision they weren’t allowed in. Or what if he wasn’t allowed to have outside food at all now that he was officially under arrest? Would he have to eat some kind of cold, stale prison food while they were all up here with each other and bowls of warm soup? The thought made Bolin hurt. Maybe he and Asami could find a way to sneak it in anyway.

“Anyone else want a soda?” He was suddenly restless and uncomfortable and didn’t feel like sitting. He vaguely remembered seeing one of the new soda vending mecha fridges back by the front door.

“Sure,” said Opal. She gave his hand a squeeze, then released him. “Actually, get a few. The food didn’t come with drinks.”

“Bolin the Drinkmaster to the rescue,” he said. He stood up and stretched, then trotted off in the direction he thought he’d seen the machine.

He was halfway down the hallway when a voice made him stop in his tracks.

“...went completely haywire!” said a hushed whisper. “No, it’s out of the question, we can’t use him.” Bolin crept closer. A part of him felt badly listening in on someone’s conversation, but something about the tone made him do it all the same. “I have no idea why. It doesn’t matter.” A short pause. “Because with the right incentives, I think he’ll do it anyway.” 

He recognized the voice now. Kuvira. He felt his cheeks grow hot. Eavesdropping on his girlfriend’s sister was definitely _not_ what he wanted to be doing. 

“No, Pier 5 is too hot now,” she said. “We’ll have to make sure they switch it. Yes, start now. That’s all I have time for. I’ll call from B.S.S.” Then there was the sound of the receiver clicking off.

Bolin hurried past, not wanting Kuvira to know he’d overheard her. Something about the conversation troubled him though. Surely she’d just been reporting back in to Zaofu before her trip to Ba Sing Se tomorrow. But then why the whispers? And what was all that about hot piers? He’d spent almost two months in Zaofu a few years ago, not to mention the many times he and Opal had visited her family, and it definitely wasn’t a port. There weren’t any piers there, let alone ones that were any particular temperature.

He shook his head, trying to put it out of his mind. There were more important things going on, and the sooner he got back, the better.


	21. ASAMI

Asami stretched as tall as she could and pinned the corner of the map to the board. She stifled a yawn, took another long pull from her coffee, then hoisted the opposite corner likewise. There. It was a start. 

It was almost noon, but the map of Republic City was as far as she’d gotten on planning Iroh’s brothers’ and Prince Wu’s visit. For one, Asami hadn’t slept at all, not with Iroh spending the night in the basement of RCPD. She didn’t sleep well without him anyway, and the added worry and fear had made it impossible. After a few hours of tossing and turning, she’d given up and gone to her work table to finish disassembling their toaster, which had shorted out the previous morning. Taking something seemingly normal apart to see why it wasn’t functioning was actually rather fitting.

Master Yue had finished his examination of Iroh last night and, like the toaster, had found nothing obviously wrong with him. He’d been very thorough, too, using his waterbending to go over every inch of her husband while Asami watched with concern and Mako did his best not to. Iroh himself had mostly kept his eyes squeezed shut, as if trying to pretend he was somewhere else. It had taken him years to get completely comfortable being undressed in front of her, and even under the best of circumstances he was usually a terrible patient. Stretched out naked in a jail cell with his wife, his friend, and a United Forces healer all at once was probably a worst case scenario for him. 

In the end, Asami was more relieved than she’d anticipated. It didn’t get them any closer to figuring out why Iroh had blacked out, and he was still under arrest, but at least he wasn’t sick. Her grandmother on her mother’s side had died of a brain tumor when she was only 31, a fact Asami had been trying all evening not to think about. All during the examination her thoughts had circled. Surely there would have been other signs if that were the case, something before a five-hour block of missing time? But Iroh had been away. What if there had been, and he’d missed or ignored them? He hated going to healers—she noted, for example, that his first move upon finding his leg sliced open was to go to Mako’s house and figure out why rather than stop the bleeding. And why _had_ he left the tour with his brothers, really? Of course he had missed her, but Asami still had a feeling that wasn’t the whole story. 

Thankfully, Yue had pronounced him fit, which at least ruled out the things she’d been most frightened of. The healer had left as Iroh hurriedly dressed, and shortly after a tired-looking Chief Beifong had made everyone, including Mako, leave the station. Iroh, of course, remained locked up. There was nothing Asami could do about that. Yet.

So instead, she’d tried to focus on work. Tried, and failed. Because before she’d gone to RCCC headquarters that morning, she’d paid Iroh a visit. A visit that had made sure she’d get almost nothing done today.

Asami had gone to see him as early as she was allowed. Mako wasn’t on duty anymore, but she’d been able to visit Iroh briefly under the supervision of another officer. 

“Hey,” he’d said as she sat down across from him. They were in one of the main level interrogation rooms now—Asami wasn’t allowed in the cell any more. He flashed her a smile, but it was strained. Iroh looked as tired as she felt, and though she could tell he’d tried to make himself somewhat presentable there was no hiding the fact that he’d slept in his clothes and hadn’t showered. All Asami wanted to do was hug him, pull him close and tell him everything was going to be okay, but she knew the drill. Her father was in prison, after all. Visits meant no touching. 

“Are you okay?” she asked instead. She moved her hand across the table as close to his as she thought she could get away with. 

Iroh shook his head. “I hardly know. But yes, under the circumstances. No missing time, and no one has told me I’ve been acting strange. And Lin—Chief Beifong—assures me that I haven’t been charged with anything yet. So there’s that. Did you call Iameh?”

Lt. Iameh was Iroh’s chief of staff, Ren’s equivalent on his team, and had been with him for years. They were close, and trusted each other. It wouldn’t even be the first time she’d bailed him out of jail. “Of course. She’s covering for you today, and I have a meeting with her this morning to go over our options.”

“Good,” Iroh nodded. He studied her face. “And you? No sleep either?”

Asami smiled a little. Iroh didn’t miss much. It was one of the first things she’d noticed about him all those years ago. “Too cold,” she said. “I think I fixed the toaster though.”

Iroh looked down at where her hand rested on the table. “Good.” Then he met her eyes. His brows narrowed slightly. “We don’t have much time. I was wondering if you could take care of some things while I’m in here?”

Asami cocked her head a little. “Of course. What else?”

Iroh’s eyes flicked over to the officer standing in the corner of the room. His gaze lingered just a second or two too long. “I need you to check on some things at the townhouse. Okay?”

Asami scrunched her nose, confused. At the townhouse? As far as she knew, neither of them had been there since Iroh had come home. “Whatever you need,” she said. “I’ll do my best, I promise.”

“All right.” Iroh took a deep breath, as if concentrating. Then he said, “Firsts on the list. Wood for the fireplace. Ice for the freezer. At noon, change the clock. Peer in the fridge and see if there’s space. Five dozen eggs.” 

Asami froze. At first, she thought he might be slipping into some kind of state again. At noon, change the clock? Even if she’d known what that meant, that was such odd phrasing. And even Iroh couldn’t eat five dozen eggs. That list didn’t make any sense. But Iroh’s golden eyes were clear, and he didn’t sound like he was rambling. 

She turned to the officer and plastered on a smile. “Any chance you have a scrap of paper, sir? I’m never going to remember all these chores.” The officer shrugged, then tore off a piece of paper from the pad he had in his uniform pocket. Asami thanked him and turned back to Iroh. “What was that again?”

Iroh repeated himself. Exactly. He used the exact same words in the exact same order. This time, she also caught that he said “firsts” and not “first.” There was no doubt this time. These weren’t chores. They were instructions. Clearly he’d learned something that he wasn’t able to tell her in front of the police, but needed her to act on.

Iroh had specifically mentioned the townhouse, too. In all likelihood, it was like the riddles he’d left her. Firsts on the list, he’d said. That would be first words or syllables most likely. Asami scanned the paper in front of her and saw they were all single-syllable words, so that made it easy. Wood. Ice. At. Peer. Five.

_Wood ice at peer five._

_What is at Pier 5?_

Asami met Iroh’s eye. “I’ll take care of it myself,” she said. She saw the corner of his mouth twitch. 

After all, they’d always been a good team.

***

It turned out that the answer was… nothing. Asami had read the shipping schedule Ren had fetched her three times, but there it was. There were no ships docked at Republic City Pier 5, and hadn’t been for the past three days. The next, a freighter carrying a shipment of copper wiring from Southwest Earth Kingdom, wasn’t due until tomorrow. At the moment, it was completely empty.

Pier 5 wasn’t even particularly interesting when it _was_ being used. It was one of six city-owned piers on the north side and was used for loading and unloading ships commissioned by the city or the United Republic government, mostly cargo. There wasn’t even a warehouse there, just a few cranes shared between there and Pier 6. Cargo was apparently loaded directly into satomobile trucks and then routed to either its destination or one of the three large warehouses owned by the city. So what, exactly, had Iroh expected her to find?

After that, it had become almost impossible for her to concentrate. Asami drank cup after cup of coffee—Iroh had spoiled her too much for café tea—and tried to focus on putting together at least a skeleton plan for the arrival of the princes, but it was no use. She had a staff, of course, but without even a rough idea of what to do she couldn’t even delegate basic tasks. Any kind of real work eluded her. The whole time she puzzled over Iroh’s clue. _What is at Pier 5?_ She was sure that she was right about what he’d asked, and just as sure that the answer was nothing. She just didn’t know what it meant. 

Asami was trying to figure out the best way to communicate this back to Iroh when there was a knock at her door. Without waiting for an answer, Ren poked his head in. 

“Visitor for you, Ms. Sato,” he said. He pushed his round glasses back up his nose. “A Commander Yue? He apologizes but says it’s important.” 

It took Asami a moment to make the connection. Of course. Master Yue was technically a United Forces healer. Commander must be the rank he would use at a place like RCCC.

“Yes, of course, send him in.”

Master Yue entered a few minutes later, dressed not in his healers’ robes but in a crimson and white officer’s uniform much like Iroh’s. But beyond that, the two men couldn’t have been more different. Yue was short, perhaps in his late 50s or early 60s, and completely bald, with the rich brown skin and clear blue eyes of the Northern Water Tribe. Ordinarily he was, if not precisely jolly, possessed of a frank, easygoing humor of the kind that liked to make jokes comparing whatever (in his mind, relatively minor) injury he was treating to waterbending shattered heads or healing the skin over the stumps of missing limbs at the front. Today he wasn't smiling.

“I’d like a quick word,” said Master Yue as soon as the door was shut. His lined face had a pinched, worried look Asami hadn’t seen before. If anyone had asked her ten minutes ago, she would have said that nothing could ruffle a man like Yue. “I hope this won’t take long. We are, I trust, alone?” Asami felt the tension creep back into her shoulders. A private word with a healer usually wasn’t good news.

“What is it?” she asked. “Is Iroh sick? Was there something—”

“No, no,” Yue said, holding out his hands. “The general is just as healthy as ever, I promise. Actually, he’s a lot better off than I usually see him. Nothing even broken this time.” The older man gave her what he probably thought was a comforting smile, but Asami could detect an undercurrent of nervousness. There was clearly something else.

“Please,” Asami said. “Just tell me.”

Yue twisted his hands together. “I could get in a lot of trouble for this, you understand. But General Iroh and I, we’ve known one another a long time, and we’ve seen some things together. And it’s so unusual, I want to give him the benefit of the doubt.” His blue eyes met hers. “Well, I always promised him I would tell it straight, and I suppose that I owe his wife the same. Ms. Sato, do you know if your husband uses Si-Wong?” 

“Si-Wong?” Asami blinked. She didn’t know what that meant. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Uses what?”

“Si-Wong. Sometimes called Si-Wong Bliss or simply Bliss, Silly, or Cactus Juice.”

Asami shook her head. “I don’t recognize it, no.” 

Yue scratched his bald head, as if thinking how best to proceed given her answer. “It’s a narcotic derived from a cactus found in the central Earth Kingdom,” he said finally. “It’s not legal, at least not here in the UR, but some people take it in small doses to help them relax. It’s actually a stimulant, but the hallucinogenic properties can introduce a kind of low-grade euphoria. In larger doses, the euphoria can increase to the point that the user may have little to no idea what is going on besides that it’s a good time; it’s what young people call a ‘party drug.’ Now, General Iroh doesn’t strike me as a party drug kind of man, but with everything he’s been through and a high-stress job, if it were anybody else I wouldn’t be shocked to learn he took a little Si-Wong now and then. And he’s told me before about how he gets… restless, I think he calls it. Bliss would help with that also. Are you aware of him taking anything like this?”

Asami shook her head, too stunned to speak. Iroh? On drugs? _Her_ Iroh? Spirits knew he was under a lot of pressure, they both were, but she couldn’t see him doing that. The most Iroh ever took was a tab or two of ginseng if he felt a little run down.

“All right,” said Yue. He looked around, as if making sure they were still alone. “What I didn’t say in front of the young officer last night is that, for whatever reason, General Iroh has been taking Si-Wong Bliss. A lot of it. So it’s possible, even probable, that whatever happened yesterday was the result of an overdose. Too much Si-Wong can tip you the other direction. Paranoia, obsessiveness, generalized manic behavior, and, yes, memory loss. There’s no way for me to tell the difference between one or two large doses and a steady habit though. So if you knew that Iroh was taking Si-Wong once in a while for other reasons, that could also explain its presence. It wouldn’t explain what happened to him, but it would make it less likely that he had a problem.”

Asami shook her head again, her thoughts reeling. Would Iroh really take something like Bliss and not tell her? He had always been private, but he didn’t keep things from her. Did he? “No,” she said finally. “I had no idea. Why didn’t you ask him last night though? Iroh is an awful liar. It would be obvious if he were hiding something.”

Yue pressed his lips together. “Technically, as a healer, I’m supposed to report all illegal substance use. Iroh’s United Forces. If he was knowingly taking something like Bliss, it would be an automatic dishonorable discharge and five years confinement.”

 _“Five years?”_ Asami sputtered.

The healer nodded. “I like General Iroh, and I think he did the right thing by turning himself in and by calling me. I didn’t feel comfortable rewarding him by reporting him, especially for something that, to me, seemed rather out of character.”

“Thank you,” Asami said, still spinning. “It is. He wouldn’t. Iroh would never do anything to jeopardize his position in the Forces.” The one time he’d briefly resigned he’d been so upset she’d started to worry about him. Iroh bent the rules sometimes when the situation called for it, but he would never risk a dishonorable discharge for his own pleasure, never. 

“That’s what I thought, too,” said Yue gravely. “Yet there it was.”

Asami had a thought. “If he’d taken it though, why would he ask you to look at him? Wouldn’t he know he’d be caught?”

“That’s a reasonable question,” said Yue. “The effects wear off after six hours or so. It passes out of the blood shortly after. But a skilled waterbender can detect trace amounts in the liquid beneath a user’s hair for several weeks afterwards if they know what they’re looking for. It’s not a very common technique though; I’m not sure someone who wasn’t used to UF enlistment screens would have thought to check for it in a case like this. If General Iroh had taken the drug yesterday morning, it would be quite reasonable to believe it undetectable by the time I examined him.” 

Something about his mentioning drug screens jogged her memory. “Master Yue, you said knowingly take it. Iroh also asked about hallucinogens when you were looking at his leg. Is it possible to give someone something like Si-Wong without them knowing it?”

The commander looked thoughtful. “I suppose,” he said. “The effects are gradual though. You’d know right away something was wrong, so even if you were given too much you wouldn’t simply black out like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Perhaps if you were already sick, or drinking, or otherwise compromised it could mask the effect long enough to knock you for a loop, but from what the general told me all he did yesterday morning was have tea. If someone drugged him, he’d have been well aware of it at least half an hour before he became impaired.”

“So what do I do?” Asami asked. “I can’t talk to Iroh without an officer, so I can’t ask him about it.”

Master Yue’s frown deepened. “No, you can’t. And if anyone found out I told you and didn’t report it, I’d lose my license. I don’t think it is an exaggeration to say that Iroh and I are both trusting you with our careers here.” He scratched at the back of his neck nervously. “Best go home and check his things, Ms. Sato. Honestly, if I were you, I’d be hoping to find some. Because if you don’t, and he’s been buying doses like yesterday’s off the street, prison might be the least of his problems.”

Asami rushed back to the apartment with a hurried excuse to Ren to reschedule her early afternoon meetings. Then she tore apart everything, from the bathroom cabinet to Iroh’s nightstand to the storage bins underneath the bed. She even checked the lining of his trunk, the one he’d taken on the tour, as well as his duffel bag. But the only hidden thing she uncovered was a battered paperback stuffed deep inside the nightstand ( _Mutiny,_ which appeared to be a romance novel. Asami flipped through it to see underlines and Iroh’s tidy print in the margins of some of the steamier passages—apparently he’d been taking notes?) and the few pictures of herself she knew he took on trips. That was all. No drugs, or things that might have contained drugs. No unidentified liquids or powders. Not even any suspicious medication; they were both relatively healthy, and besides first aid the cabinet contained little more than aspirin, antacids, and birth control. Which meant that Yue must have been wrong. She just had to figure out how.

No drugs. An empty pier. What the hell was going on?


	22. IZUMI

Izumi had never particularly cared for the throne room. It was large and dark and drafty, a problem made worse, not better, by the roaring fire that crackled behind her. Like most firebenders she was rarely cold, but the heat imbalance created a constant, irritating breeze. The flames cast the cavernous room into sharp relief, deepening the shadows behind the many pillars and making it difficult to see and nearly impossible to read. One would think that, as Firelord, she’d have some say in the decorations and perhaps be able to brighten up the place, but the Fire Sages had quickly informed her that this was not the case. In fact, when she had ascended to the throne back in ‘67, Izumi quickly learned that there were precious few traditions over which she had any control. Decor was the least of it.

Honora sat cross-legged to her left just outside the ornate Firelord’s pagoda, her heart-side, back straight, wearing her black and red formal robes. Izumi smiled to herself. That was one battle she had won, at least, and thank the spirits for that. She wasn’t entirely sure that it was possible to balance the burden of being Firelord without someone you loved by your side, and who loved you unfailingly in return. It was a damned lot of work, for one. And no matter what decision you made, some not-insignificant portion of the population was going to hate you for it, be it going to war or changing your hairstyle. Having a good partner to share the load made all the difference. It wasn’t lost on Izumi that the worst period in Fire Nation history was also the one with the most arranged marriages. What a lot of nonsense that had turned out to be. 

Which is part of what made what was going on in the throne room today so utterly ridiculous. 

“Firelord Izumi,” said the man in front of her. He was tall and thin, almost gaunt, and dressed in formal robes of black and gold. He bowed low, acting for all the world like they were meeting for the first time instead of like they’d known one another for 20 years, the last eight of which he’d served as her Minister of Treasury. The tip of his long beard just touched the tile, and Izumi wondered, not for the first time, if the hair he’d eventually lost on his head had somehow been reincarnated on his chin. He straightened, then bowed to Honora, a little less deeply. “And Firelady Honora. Thank you for receiving my request.” He did not acknowledge Tai, who sat silent at Izumi’s right, her blood hand. Tai was, of course, not yet of age.

“As is the custom, Dono Nokai,” Izumi answered, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. Formal presentation was another thing that she had no control over. The tradition dated back thousands of years. Ostensibly, it was to introduce a noble heir come of age to the Firelord and Lady, but the origins had their roots in the same ridiculous arranged marriages her father had banned long ago. It was, in essence, an offer of an heir now of marriageable age for review and consideration as a future match for any royal children. It was all so silly, and a huge waste of everybody’s time, but the Fire Sages and her father had both insisted that not sitting for presentation would be abominably rude. So, here she was. 

“Of course, Firelord,” said Nokai stiffly. Then he stepped aside. Behind him stood a young man of, presumably, 19. He was as tall as his father, though not quite so bony, and richly dressed in deep red robes trimmed with gold. His sleek black hair, no doubt grown long for the occasion, was gathered in a traditional topknot tied with a golden ribbon. “May I present my son, Jirao, now of age and heir.”

Izumi nodded to Jirao. She knew perfectly well who he was, of course. He was of an age with Tai, and had been more or less running around the palace all his life. The youth looked nervous, but to his credit stood his ground before sinking into a deep bow. That was at least something. Then he stood and braced his left palm against his right fist. 

“Firelord Izumi,” he said. His voice was clear, determined. Izumi smiled a little. All right, maybe she liked this one, his obsequious father notwithstanding. Jirao had always been well-mannered, and she’d seen many a young man and woman lose their nerve at presentation. “I pledge my loyalty to the Fire Nation.” This was a slight modification. After Ozai, pledges were made to the nation and not to the Firelord. “I pledge it with my honor. I shall not be insincere. I shall not be greedy. I shall not be arrogant, or boastful. I shall serve others and endeavor to be worthy of the citizenship this nation now stows upon me. I hereby offer my faith, my service, and my duty now until the time of my death or you release me.” He bowed again, then dropped his hands, but not before she saw his golden eyes flick to Tai. Her daughter said nothing, but even the quivering firelight couldn’t hide the faint blush on her cheeks.

All of a sudden Izumi wasn’t so sure that she liked this one anymore.

***

“Is that all of them, Joo Dee?” Izumi asked once she heard the door close at the far end of the room. She bit her lip to stifle a yawn. There had been 18 presentations in all,  _ 18, _ but that’s what she got for limiting them to once a quarter instead of letting them trickle in and clutter up her days. Damned waste of an afternoon.

“Yes, my lord,” said the petite secretary. “Domo Izom and his daughter, Nungon, were the last until after New Year.” 

“Good,” Honora said beside her. She stretched out her legs and wiggled her toes inside her soft slippers. “I’m too old to sit on the floor for that long, ZuZu. I love seeing these kids all grown up and finally scared to death of you, it’s only proper, but next time I’m either bringing a pillow or asking one of those bright young things to give a foot rub as their first act of fealty.”

Izumi chose to ignore her. There were bigger koi to cook. “Tai, honey,” she said slowly. “See anyone you like?”

Tai, predictably, turned bright red. Spirits, had she herself been that obvious when she was that age? “I like all of them, mother,” she said carefully. “I’ve known Nungon and To-yi and Aiyaza and the rest my whole life.” 

“Of course. But you know, the real purpose of presentation is for your mother and I to have a sense of who is out there that might be a good match for you. Eventually.” Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Honora looking over with interest. She must have missed the glance between Tai and Jirao. 

“Oh please,” said Tai. “You aren’t going to tell me that’s how it works. Kazai didn’t get married until he was 31! And Asami isn’t even Fire Nation, she wasn’t presented at all. Iroh found her in the middle of a battle or something.” Izumi pursed her lips. Her youngest son had always been slightly evasive about exactly how he and his wife had met. 

“No, that’s not how it works,” she answered. “But you’re right, you’ve grown up with most everyone being presented this year, not to mention your friends’ older siblings and those who aren’t heirs. You might be young, but I was only 23 when I met your mother. And Asami was your age when she and Iroh met.” Izumi didn’t add that she’d given Iroh absolute hell about that, which he’d deserved even if he’d turned out to be right about the relationship. Nineteen was way too young for anything serious, and she didn’t think her son had had ever done anything in his life that wasn’t completely serious.

Honora frowned a little, then stood. She straightened her robes and came over to stand behind Tai. “Don’t listen to your mother,” she chided, scratching her head a little. “She’s just beating the bushes for more grandkids to spoil. You’ve got plenty of time. Don’t rush it.”

“What I’m  _ saying,” _ Izumi cut in, “is if there’s no one you’re interested in here, maybe it’s time we expanded your horizons a little. I don’t regret not sending you with your brothers, but maybe there’s something else we can do to get you out of the palace for a bit. Meet some new people, that sort of thing.”  _ And perhaps take a break from young Jirao’s lingering eyes, _ she thought. It wasn’t fair, but Tai was, well, a  _ young _ 19, and while it might have worked out for Asami and Iroh, Izumi did not want her daughter settling for the first man or woman who tickled her fancy. There was nothing wrong with Jirao,  _ per se. _ He was simply five, maybe ten years too early. 

At first, Tai said nothing. Izumi could almost see the wheels turning behind her copper eyes. “No,” she said finally. “There’s no one. We’re all friends, that’s all.”

“Then we’ll think of something fun,” said Izumi, relieved. Lots of things could be fun. Monasteries, for example, or a tour of the abandoned Air Temples. 

“Joo Dee,” Honora said. The secretary looked up from where she’d been standing by one of the pillars, her long brown braid swinging slightly. Honestly, Izumi had forgotten she was still in the room. The way the shadows played, she’d been nearly invisible.

“Yes, my lady?” 

“Can you check how feasible it would be for the Firelord and Princess Tai to join the Crown Prince, Prince Matsu, and Prince Wu in Republic City?” 

“Yes, my lady.” 

“Thank you.” Honora’s amber eyes met hers and she shrugged slightly. “I don’t want to rain on Kazai’s parade, but with all your talk of getting out I thought it might be nice. Tai is nearly finished with her Tasks, and Osion is rolling out the red carpet for the princes anyway, so it shouldn’t be too much extra trouble for the Republic. And Iroh will be there, you know how hard he is to pin down. You wouldn’t have Inae or Lari or the grandkids, and at least one of us needs to stay here as regent, but still. It might be nice for you to have some one-on-one time with the kids, and you know your father be will more than happy to spoil the little princes rotten while you're away. Besides, you’ve been telling me it would be helpful to get to know Osion better.”

“Yes!” Tai’s eyes lit up, all thoughts of Jirao forgotten. Izumi knew how upset she’d been when her brothers had gotten a world tour and she’d been left behind. She quickly recovered though. “I mean, that would be very nice. I would love to see all my brothers, and I hardly ever see Iroh. Republic City could be interesting as well.” Tai said this last part as if it was the element of the trip that interested her the least. No one was fooled. 

Izumi thought for a moment. She was glad she’d come up with the tour idea for the boys. Kazai in particular could do with a little education about how big the world was, and how small he was in comparison. It had ideally been nice for Matsu as well, letting him start to be known in his own right and not just as Kazai’s enabler and sidekick. She’d also hoped it would be good for Iroh. While he certainly didn’t need the kinds of introductions to the world that his brothers did, in her opinion he’d been too much away. Iroh was an important part of the Fire Nation, and this had been a chance for him to perhaps feel it. The fact that he’d been called away early hadn’t been ideal. Perhaps a little family time at the end of the trip might make up for that? And if all of it meant giving Tai a (properly supervised) break from palace life and wandering eyes, all the better.

“I’ll think about it,” she said. She turned to Joo Dee. The girl was relatively new, but was already proving herself exceptionally competent as her private secretary’s understudy. “Please do see what’s possible, and be sure to check with Raza as well. He knows the details of my schedule and what can and cannot be moved.” 

Joo Dee pressed her palm to her fist and bowed. The firelight flickered in her chocolate eyes, her face expressionless. “As you wish, my lord.”


	23. IROH

Iroh pressed his chest into the backs of his hands again, then quickly pushed up. “Seventy-five,” he muttered, then rocked back on his knees. The chain between his wrists jingled. He hopped to his feet and took three big steps to the far corner, breathing deeply, trying to slow down his heart rate as fast as he could. At the same time he focused, channeling the fire inside him, concentrating it, then pushing it all into his right index finger. There he held it. Then he reached out and slowly released. A bright blue flame flickered to life, just at the tip of his finger. Iroh gritted his teeth, keeping the fire perfectly steady, and carefully traced a small “O” on the wall. The steel beneath his finger warped slightly, turning an iridescent cobalt rimmed with hints of magenta. 

Iroh grinned. That was pretty neat.

He took three steps back then dropped to the ground again. The chain clanged against the metal floor. Down. The tops of the cuffs dug into his chest; he’d probably have bruises tomorrow. Up. Seventy-six. His bare arms were shaking slightly now. As if pushups in handcuffs weren’t hard enough, firebending took work, and the most tiring by far was very hot, finely-focused firebending. In Iroh’s experience what tapped out a firebender wasn’t the amount of energy they were moving around, but their capacity to control it. When it came down to it, bending was mostly mental; and the more one had to focus in order to bend, the harder it got. It’s what put something like heating water in a cup without shattering it in roughly the same league as basic lightning bending, and lightning bending into a glass like he’d done at Asami’s birthday dinner the result of years of practice. Anyone could make a fireball. 

Which is of course why Iroh was doing it. Going from vigorous physical activity to bending something hot and delicate was rather akin to interval training, and well-suited to confined spaces. After every 25 pushups he’d try to quickly shift to the kind of very small, very hot bending that required the most calm and concentration. He’d worked the routine out ages ago as a way to burn energy aboard ship on days it was too wet to bend on the deck. The fact that he now had to do it with his wrists six inches apart just upped the challenge.

It also gave him something to focus on. Iroh hadn’t slept at all, instead going over and over everything he knew or thought he knew about his situation until he’d realized he was simply out of ideas. He’d finished the detective stories already, and now that he was under arrest Asami hadn’t been able to slip him any more books. So instead he’d shifted to mental and physical exercise to pass the time, first with meditation, then stretches, and finally this. 

Iroh was halfway through the “H” when the panel behind him clicked. He whirled as his finger went out. He quickly mopped his face with the edge of his undershirt and noticed with some discomfort that he stank—they hadn’t yet let him take a shower, and he’d been working pretty hard. He probably wasn’t the worst-smelling person in RCPD holding, but still. Iroh liked things neat and clean, and that included himself. He took a step back, hoping at the very least he could at least put some distance between his armpits and the door. 

“Are you still with us, General Iroh?” Chief Beifong’s voice. 

“Last. I checked,” Iroh panted, trying not to sound too out of breath. 

Lin’s green eyes appeared at the open panel. She wrinkled her nose. “And is there any particular reason why I smell fire?”

It was better than smelling body odor, he supposed. Iroh tried to arrange his face in what he hoped was a very sane look. It had only just occurred to him that the chief of police might not take confidence from the fact that he’d been firebending inside a cell specifically designed to hold firebenders, and in handcuffs that were supposed to limit his bending, no less. “Not that has to do with my being compromised,” he said, in what he thought was a cheerful tone. “I feel fine. No missing time, as far as I can tell, or any unexplained injuries. Just having a little workout?” Iroh wasn’t sure why that last part sounded so much like a question.

The chief narrowed her eyes in suspicion, then Iroh heard the clunk of the lock. The door slid open. Chief Beifong was apparently alone. “You’re free to go, Iroh, if you choose to,” she said, dropping the “general” for once. He’d known her his whole life, but they’d fallen into using one another’s titles in public as a sign of mutual respect. “Miss Fan declined to press charges for the assault. That drops it down to petty larceny for the theft of her scarf, which is basically worthless. According to her statement it cost about 12 yuans at the Night Market a year ago. It’s still a crime, but no one in Justice is going to bother prosecuting that, especially since you returned it. Nothing official yet, but it’ll be dismissed.” The chief crossed her arms, not quite blocking the door and yet not exactly standing aside, either. “As for the trespassing, there’s only enough evidence to get you as far as the top of the fence. Technically, you would have to be inside to be considered on the property. So, if you want to leave, you can.”

Iroh met her eyes, unsure. He didn’t like being in the cell. He was bored and dirty and exhausted, and more than anything he wanted to go home. But he also still had no idea why he’d attacked this Fan woman, or how he’d injured himself, or what he may or may not have been doing trying to scale a security fence. He’d done his best to ask Asami to find out what was docked at Pier 5, and he thought she’d gotten the message, but he hadn’t heard back from her yet. 

“What do you think?” Iroh asked finally. “Honestly. I don’t want to live in an F-cell, but I still don’t know what happened. I don’t trust myself to be impartial.” He sighed and unconsciously ran a hand through his hair, slapping himself in the chin with the chain of his handcuffs. He winced. That was getting annoying.

When he looked up, he saw something he couldn’t remember ever having seen before. Lin Beifong was trying not to laugh. She pressed on hand over her mouth and composed herself. “You don’t seem like much of a danger to me, kid,” she said. “But I don’t want to take any chances, either, and I appreciate your caution. Call the station every six hours. If we don’t hear from you, Iroh, I’ll send someone out.”

He gave her a curt nod. “All right. I can do that.” It was actually a smart compromise, especially if he could convince Asami to wear one of her electric smackers so she could drop him fast if she needed to. Not that he wanted to hurt anyone, but her safety especially was one area where he was taking no chances. 

Iroh walked to the door and held out his wrists. He felt a small shiver of embarrassment as he revealed the long, thick, t-shaped scar on his left forearm; a lasting reminder of a time when he’d judged taking his own life to be the lesser of two evils. Lin had seen it before, of course, and knew as well as most people he was close to how he’d gotten it and why. Iroh also stood by his decision, at least based on the information he’d had at the time. Still, a deep part of him always wondered, just a little bit, if people looked at an arm like that and thought less of him. 

Chief Beifong’s eyes widened. “What. Did. You.  _ Do?” _ she hissed. Iroh started. It took him a moment before he realized she wasn’t looking at his scar at all, but a spot just over his left shoulder. 

Iroh felt his face burn with an entirely different type of embarrassment. He’d completely forgotten about the wall. “Um. That was already here?” It was all he could think of. He hadn’t really thought about it at the time, it was just a way to practice his bending. He felt like he was five again, caught kneeling on the counter with his hand in a jar of Katara’s homemade cookies.

_ “IT SAYS ‘IROH’!”  _ she shouted. And Iroh, decorated general and 12-year combat veteran, flinched. Hard.

Lin pressed both her palms to her face and actually growled. Then she slapped one hand against the wall of the cell. The steel behind him made a kind of popping sound. When Iroh turned to look, the area he’d burned was smooth and unmarked.

He turned back to the chief and slowly held out his wrists again, settling his gaze somewhere around her stomach. With a wave of her hand the metal cuffs clattered to the floor. “Go home, Iroh,” the chief said in a tired voice. “Call me in six.” Iroh nodded, then grabbed his shirt and made for the stairs without another word. He couldn’t believe it. He’d thought she was furious, and their professional relationship had never stopped her from giving him a piece of her mind.

Suddenly her voice thundered after him. “And the next time you firebend something of mine, I’m throwing you in an ice cell in RCP-F and swallowing the key, Izumi’s baby or no!”

Iroh stumbled, then took the stairs two at a time. 

***

“Republic City Central Command, Asami Sato’s office.”

“Ren,” Iroh said. He leaned against the wall of the RCPD lobby, all the while telling himself that he was most definitely not hiding. Chief Beifong had already huffed upstairs.

“Good afternoon, General,” the young man replied. Iroh smiled a little. Ren had been a good hire. “If you’re looking for Ms. Sato, she’s in a meeting right now.” 

“With who?” Iroh asked. 

There was a long pause. “You know I can’t tell you that, General.” 

Iroh scuffed his boots. Of course he knew that, he was just tired. “Fine. And you can’t tell me when she’ll be out, can you?”

“Don’t know, sir. She was called in just a few minutes ago. Unscheduled. I can tell you that much. Could be quick, or not.” 

“All right. Um…” Iroh thought for a moment. “Tell her I’m out, I’m heading home, and that I want her in a smacker ASAP.”

There was a little hum from the other end of the line. “Out. Going home. Smacker. Got it, sir.” Iroh furrowed his brows a little. There had been no reaction in Ren’s voice. Asami must not have told him he’d been arrested. He wasn’t sure what to think about that. One of the first things Iroh had done was call his own chief of staff and tell her everything. Lt. Iameh had, predictably, shouted at him, but she’d also taken care of clearing his schedule for the day and, unless he was very much mistaken, made excuses for him that had little to do with the truth. If Asami hadn’t told Ren likewise, that either meant that she didn’t trust him, which Iroh knew wasn’t the case, or that she was far more worried than he was about the RCCC finding out about what had happened. Iroh wasn’t sure what to make of that. 

With Asami busy, Iroh took off across the park that separated the Republic City Police Department from City Hall and headed for home. His boots crunched lightly on a few lingering patches of snow. He passed several befuddled-looking pedestrians before he finally realized that he was wearing nothing but a dirty undershirt and Mako’s old shorts—his shirt was still bunched up in his hand—and that it was December. Asami had taken his coat home with her last night. He’d started firebending unconsciously as soon as he’d left RCPD, so he wasn’t cold exactly, but he probably looked a little crazy. Iroh quickened his pace and tried not to meet anyone’s eye. He’d worked in the City Hall building for years and it would be awkward to be recognized.

He opened the door to the apartment 15 minutes later, a little out of breath. He’d wound up jogging most of the way back, a combination of pent-up energy and wanting to get off the street half-dressed. Iroh checked the clock that hung in the living room. 16:35. That was good, no missing time. Then he walked to the laundry and stripped out of everything, even leaving his boots next to the bin. He’d deal with those later. 

Iroh stepped into the shower and just stood there with the spray in his face. He was normally quick, having spent so many years at sea with water rations, but this seemed like a time for indulgence. Spirits, even after four years sailing a desk in Republic City there was really nothing like a hot shower, even when one wasn’t coming home after a night locked up. Iroh reached down and turned the water as hot as it could go, letting it scald away the feelings of grime and exhaustion. It was only when he felt it growing cold that he hunted up the soap.

He was styling his hair in the still-foggy mirror when he noticed the cabinet over the sink. The mirrored door was slightly ajar. Iroh pulled it open, curious. He never would have left it like that. He’d made it a rule to always close doors and drawers, to the point it was automatic. A combination of being tall and living on a ship had generally meant that, in one way or another, an open cabinet was a headache waiting to happen. There was nothing obviously different inside though. Iroh thought perhaps some things had been moved around, but he couldn’t be sure. He closed the door firmly, troubled. 

The telephone rang and he almost jumped. Iroh grasped the towel around his waist and joggled to the kitchen. He’d had mixed feelings about getting one installed last year, but being married to Asami meant he hadn’t ever had much chance of avoiding the latest technology. He still hadn’t gotten used to the idea that people could now try to talk to him at all hours. On the other hand, Iroh couldn’t deny that it was useful.

“Iroh,” he said into the receiver.

“I still can’t believe that’s how you answer your home telephone,” said Lt. Iameh’s voice. “Sir.” 

“It’s efficient,” Iroh said testily. “Anyone can say ‘hello.’ This way you know who it is.”

“It’s your  _ home telephone. _ Who else is it going to be?”

Iroh sighed. She was clearly missing the point. “I just got out,” he said, changing the subject. “Most of the charges dropped.”

“I know. I just got off the phone with RCPD.” 

“Oh.” She must have been looking for him then. “I tried to reach Asami but she’s busy. I left a message with Ren, too, but if you see her have her call me. I may be out, but I’m still being cautious, so the fewer people I see, the better. I’m going to stay put.”

“No, you’re not,” said Iameh. “I’m sorry, General. You’re going to have to come in. Emergency meeting. That’s where Ms. Sato is, too. I covered for you as best I could but this is with the president.”

Iroh straightened. “Is everything all right?”

“I doubt it. Tenzin is in there, too, as are a couple of the Directors.”

He swore under his breath. There was no way that was good news. What a week this was turning out to be. Iroh looked down at his towel. “I’m on my way.”


	24. ASAMI

President Osion clasped her hands together on top of her desk, her back perfectly straight. “I was simply informing you, Ms. Sato. There’s no need to change any plans.”

Asami cocked her head a little. She knew she was tired, but what the president was saying didn’t make any sense. “Of course there is. It might be last minute, but we can’t ignore them entirely.”

Osion’s thin lips stretched into an approximation of a smile. “But that’s exactly what we’re going to do,” she said brusquely. She leaned back into her chair, somehow managing to still look completely rigid rather than comfortable. Not that anything in President Osion’s office was comfortable. The tacky opulence of the room under President Raiko had quickly been replaced with a sparse amount of hard, sleek furniture that equally seemed to suit its new occupant. 

“I don’t understand,” Asami said. She rubbed quickly at one temple, then realized a half-second too late showing frustration with the president was probably a bad move. She sat up straighter instead. “Rather, just to be sure I’m clear. You called me in here to tell me that Firelord Izumi and Princess Tai will be coming in two weeks, and to do nothing about it?”

“I’ll not have the Fire Nation bankrupting the Republic with so much pomp and circumstance,” the president replied. “It’s quite enough that we’re spending thousands of the people’s yuans on the Crown Prince and his brother, and now Crown Prince Wu as well. I’ll have no more of it. My job is to govern the United Republic and to spend our resources wisely. Entertaining neighboring monarchs doesn’t make the cut.”

“But Madam President, the plans are still so early,” Asami protested. She hadn’t admitted how early—the map on the wall of her office was still as far as she’d gotten considering she’d run home to search the apartment—but Osion had only assigned the planning to her office last week. She had to know Asami hadn’t gotten far. 

“Hardly,” Osion said, sounding for all the world like the last minute nature of the preparation was Asami’s fault and not her own. “We have little more than two weeks. And spirits knows they might change their minds again. I’ll not bend to their every whim.”

“But there are several events in the works and it will cost nothing to repurpose one of them. We can’t simply pretend they aren’t here.” The news that Iroh’s mother and sister were joining Kazai, Matsu, and Prince Wu on short notice certainly added work to her plate, and not just at RCCC, but Asami wasn’t about to snub them entirely. “I know Raza said they didn’t want to make a fuss, and that the Firelord just wants to spend time with her children, but still. If we do nothing at all, she’ll be offended.”

Osion let out a long-suffering sigh. “She’ll be offended no matter what,” she said. “These bloodsucking royals are all the same. They pretend to be magnanimous, but deep down all they want is flattery, and no matter what you do it’s never enough. So I’m drawing the line in the name of economy and doing nothing at all. The people of the United Republic elected me to govern responsibly, and that is what I intend to do. That begins with use of resources, mine and yours both. What we already have planned and budgeted is more than sufficient.” 

Asami bit back a retort. The president had either forgotten, or was wilfully ignoring, the fact that both she and especially Iroh were members of the Fire Nation royal family, and that any comments about “bloodsucking royals” applied to two members of her senior staff currently serving the Republic. Not only that, but she seemed to think she knew what to do with Asami’s family better than she did. Or Iroh, for that matter. It was as bizarre as it was insulting. Asami didn’t know Izumi very well yet, but she knew enough to know that treating her as if she were invisible in order to prove a point was a catastrophic mistake. Izumi might not be the life of the party, and shared a lot of Iroh’s quiet tendencies, but she had a rigid, formal streak as well. Things were done simply because that’s the way they were done, and that was the end of the argument. Izumi herself may not even want the attention, but if it was what was respectfully due the Firelord, she would be angry all the same if it didn’t happen.

Asami took a deep breath, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice. She had to try. “But Madam President—”

“I don’t recall asking the opinion of the Civilian Liason’s office,” Osion cut in. Her ice blue eyes met Asami’s. “I’m not a consensus politician, Ms. Sato. I don’t expect everyone to agree with me, but I do expect them to listen to a directive. Add seats for Firelord Izumi and her daughter at the events, and that is all.”

Asami felt her face grow hot. Osion had given her a job to do, a job that wasn’t part of her job at all and yet had international repercussions, and then wouldn’t even listen to her opinion? Of all the egotistical, insufferable, downright disrespectful things to do, Asami couldn’t think of much worse. It meant that she carried all of the responsibility for success without having any real control or chance of doing so. In a flash of insight, she realized this was exactly what President Raiko had repeatedly done to Iroh. No wonder he’d hated the man. 

A knock sounded at the door. “Come in,” the president called. Asami started to get up, assuming she was dismissed, but Osion shook her head firmly. “Sit. This concerns you as well.” Asami sat, shifting a little in the hard wooden chair. Raiko may have been a pompous ass, but at least his furniture hadn’t been painful.

The door opened and Joo Dee popped her head in. “Madam President, Tenzin of the Air Nation is still waiting, along with Directors Tao and Yawen, and now Avatar Korra has arrived as well. I’m told General Iroh is ill, but is on his way anyway given the urgency. Shall I keep them out here until the general arrives, or send them in?”

Asami tried to hide her surprise. Anything that required the leaders of the Air Nation and United Republic, the Avatar, the head of the United Forces, and the directors of Intelligence and Foreign Relations was probably not about party planning. And how was Iroh on his way?

“No, no, send them in,” Osion said. She waved her hand a little. “It’s very kind of the general to join us when he’s feeling poorly, but we can get started without him. I understand he lives close by.” There was no acknowledgement that Asami lived in the same house.

That Iroh was sick was an outright lie, of course. That must be Iameh’s doing in order to keep the fact he’d been arrested out of the papers—she’d always been much better than either he or Asami at thinking of things like that. But how had she gotten him to the meeting? There was no way that Chief Beifong would let him out of jail just because President Osion needed him in a meeting. In a lot of ways, she was very much like Izumi. Rules were rules, and they applied just as much to a general and a president as to anyone else. 

Joo Dee ducked her head back into the hallway. A moment later Korra pushed the door open, followed by the tall form of Tenzin and a man and a woman Asami recognized, respectively, as Director Tao and Director Yawen. 

They all stopped to bow, and Tenzin said, “Madam President.” Korra walked up and pulled out the chair next to Asami, then paused. There were only two chairs, and Osion hadn’t invited her to sit. Unlike Firelord Izumi or Chief Beifong, Korra was the opposite of formal, and had always struggled a bit with diplomatic protocol. 

Osion pressed her lips together. “Joo Dee!” she called. “We need space for eight and the telephone.” The young woman appeared again in the doorway, then hurried over and grabbed the telephone off of the president’s desk to set it on the coffee table. Then she scurried back and took the chair in front of Korra. She started dragging it over to the big white couch under the windows. Up close she reminded Asami a little of Lt. Iameh; short and slight, with black hair so straight it might have been ironed. Her skin and eye color were more like Iroh’s though. For a moment Asami was uncomfortably reminded of a picture she’d once seen in the palace of his great aunt Azula, the one who’d tried to claim the throne and then gone crazy, or perhaps the other way around. Iroh had let it slip once that he’d met her as a child, a few years before she died, but beyond that he wouldn’t talk about it. Asami shivered in spite of herself.

Then she set her jaw. That was hardly fair. Most people in the Fire Nation looked like some combination of Iroh, Iameh, and the rest of Iroh’s family. It was one of the side effects of being a bunch of islands—though things were changing, the kind of mixing and intermarriage that no one thought twice about in a place like the United Republic had been slow to cross the water. Even someone like Asami, whose family came from Fire Nation colonists and who still retained the dark hair, light skin, and sharp features of that bloodline, had been received in Caldera as something of an oddity. A green-eyed Fire Princess? It wasn’t wrong; there had simply never been one before.

Abruptly Asami stood, then picked up her own chair and moved it next to the one Joo Dee had moved. The girl was a secretary, not a servant. Tenzin twitched a little, as if just remembering his manners as well, and looked around for something that he, too, could carry. But the couch and two chairs were all that was in the room, not counting the large chair behind Osion’s desk. Joo Dee looked around helplessly. There weren’t any other offices on this floor. 

“It’s okay, a few of us can stand,” Asami whispered. “We’ll be fine.”

The young woman flashed her a grateful smile, then frowned slightly. “That’s not necessary, Director Sato,” she said. Asami blinked. Technically she was the same rank as Iroh at RCCC, but no one ever called her “director” despite nearly everyone calling him “general.” She discovered she rather liked it. Joo Dee took a quick look at the setup, then darted back out of the room.

Meanwhile, Korra had sidled up to Asami. Yawen, Tao, and Tenzin were across the room chatting with the president. It sounded mostly like small talk. “What’s this about?” she whispered.

“Beats me,” Asami said under her breath. “But if she called you in, it can’t be good.”

“Thanks.” Korra rolled her eyes. “Real vote of confidence there.”

Asami’s eyes flicked to Tenzin, dressed as usual in his long red and yellow robes. “Tenzin didn’t know, either?”

For some reason, Korra blushed. “We didn’t get a chance to talk about it. I was… I wasn’t on the island. I was out. Jiniora sent one of the little spirits after me though, and I came as soon as I could.” 

Asami raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t unusual for Korra to be out, but it was _very_ unusual for her to be embarrassed or evasive about it. “Out?”

The Avatar scuffed her feet a little. “Okay. I had a date.”

Asami found herself grinning. “Ah.” She pitched her voice low, trying to sound more or less like Iroh giving an order. “I’ll expect a full briefing on that after the meeting, Avatar Korra.”

Korra barked out a little laugh. “Fine. But not in front of prince charming, okay? I’m not even sure how I feel about it, and I’m not ready to be judged yet.”

“Our secret,” Asami said, putting a finger to her lips. Good for her, whoever it wound up being. Sometimes she worried that Korra was still hung up on Mako, even after all these years. Spirits knew she’d gone back to Mako herself at one point, but looking back that had been more loneliness than anything else. There was no way to know what might have happened if she hadn’t wound up traveling to the South Pole with Iroh, but she liked to think she would have moved on soon regardless. But Mako had been Korra’s first love, and as far as Asami knew her only one, too. The fact that her friend never been on more than a handful of dates with anyone since had always been a little troubling.

There was a quick staccato knock, then the door opened. Iroh walked in wearing his uniform, slightly out of breath. His hair was wet and slicked back, as if he’d just recently showered, and his nose and cheeks were pink with cold and exercise. It looked like he might have run all the way here. “Madam President,” he panted. “I apologize for my tardiness, and Joo Dee said I—”

“No matter,” said Osion, cutting him off. “Your chief of staff informed me you were sick today. I consider it a favor that you are here at all.” She looked him briefly up and down, likely noting the same wet hair and flushed face and coming to a rather different conclusion. “Spirits, come sit down, you look awful, general.” She nodded to the chairs. Iroh gave her a stiff nod, then walked over to Asami and Korra. It was then Asami noticed he was limping—it was so slight she doubted anyone else could tell, but it was there. Of course, the attention he’d received from Korra and Master Yue wouldn’t have completely healed a cut as deep as the one he’d had on his leg, and if he really had been running on it… well, she’d yell at him later.

Iroh took up a place on the other side of Asami instead of taking a seat. Korra gave him a heartfelt hello and a questioning look, then went and plopped onto the couch, presumably giving her and Iroh some space. Asami felt his warm fingers just brush her hand and she tickled his palm a little. What she really wanted was to grab on and drag him down into a kiss, but they both knew they couldn’t do that, not here. A subtle touch was all they could manage until they got back to one of their offices. Still, it was better than nothing.

“Hey,” he whispered. “What’s all this about?”

“Don’t know,” she murmured, in a repeat of her conversation with Korra. “Was hoping you did.” 

“Nope. Just got out. Couldn’t find you but Iameh said come.”

"Iroh, we need to talk." Asami glanced up at him and he smiled back, though she could see the worry in his eyes. _Drugs? Iroh?_

"I know. Right after this."

“You okay?”

“So far. I’m checking in with Lin every few hours though.” She felt rather than saw Iroh shift, then he pressed something into her hand. “Put it on.” Asami closed her fingers around the familiar shape of a smacker. She looked down. The device in her hand was small and gray, about the size and shape of a wristwatch, and when properly deployed delivered a jolt of electricity powerful enough to knock a grown man unconscious. It was probably the one she kept in the kitchen at home. “Just in case,” Iroh added. “Don’t hesitate.”

Asami frowned and strapped on the smacker, the round compression disk settling comfortably in the center of her palm. Presumably he was talking about himself, and if so, her answer was very firmly in the “like hell” department. Iroh might be big, young, and healthy, but the only time she’d seen an electric smacker used in a real conflict it had actually killed its target, not just stunned them. She would use it on him only as an absolute last resort, and perhaps not even then. Both Tenzin and Director Yawen were powerful benders, and Korra was the Avatar. Between them they could keep even a firebender of Iroh’s caliber in check if need be.

“You should sit, Iroh,” Asami said softly as the others made their way over from Osion’s desk. “Your leg hurts, I know it does.” Director Yawen settled on the couch to Korra’s right and primly crossed her legs beneath her skirt. Soon there would be no more seats at all.

“I’m fine.” 

Stubborn is what he was. Asami glanced around, then dropped back into the stiff wooden chair in front of her. If that’s what it took. “Lean on this then,” she whispered. There was a pause, then she felt Iroh’s weight settle on the back of the chair as he gripped it with both hands, hopefully at least taking some pressure off his leg. A lone finger stroked the skin at the base of her neck. Asami tried hard to keep her face impassive. 

The president settled into the other chair and the elderly Director Tao on Korra’s left across the coffee table. Tenzin, like Iroh, remained standing. 

Asami heard Osion take a deep breath. Then she said, “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a situation. And I’m afraid it’s of our own making.” For some reason, her gaze settled upon Korra. “Or rather, I believe, of your making, Avatar. Which, oddly enough, is somewhat fitting.”


	25. IROH

Everyone turned to Korra. 

“What did I do?” she asked, her blue eyes wide. She held up her hands, palms out, in an instinctive gesture of defense. It was clear that she had no idea what President Osion was referring to.

“What’s going on?” barked Tenzin.

“The Avatar?” said Tao, Osion’s Intelligence Director. The fact that he was so puzzled didn’t give Iroh a lot of confidence. Tao had had a long and illustrious career, but he was in his upper 70s now and perhaps not the man he’d once been. Iroh ground his teeth. He had quite a few scars, sunken ships, and absent friends he attributed principally to bad intelligence, and his patience was extremely limited.

“Korra, what?” Asami said. She leaned forwards a little bit.

Iroh himself said nothing. He absently fingered Asami’s hair as he gripped the chair behind her chair, silently grateful she’d given him a way to rest his throbbing leg, and did what he did best. 

He watched. 

The first thing he noticed was that Tenzin didn’t seem surprised. Despite his outburst, the expression on the old airbender’s face was actually fear. That meant that either he _did_ know what was happening and wanted to feign ignorance, or he at least suspected. And, that it was bad. Tenzin might be a peace-loving member of the Air Nation, but Iroh knew he was no coward. Not by a long shot. If he was afraid, it meant trouble.

The second was that Tenzin’s gray eyes had immediately flicked to, of all people, Iroh himself. Of everyone, he’d chosen his face to search for… something. That meant that there was some piece of this that involved him, or perhaps the United Forces or even the Fire Nation, more than the others. How, he wasn’t sure. Either that, or Iroh was supposed to know something about this as well. 

The third was that, despite her grave manner, President Osion was in some fashion enjoying herself. There was something about her eyes, a certain smugness perhaps, and a tug at the corners of her mouth. She still seemed tense, and was obviously concerned, but that wasn’t all. It might have only been that, as the holder of this information, she was also the holder of power, but Iroh didn’t think so. There was something in this for her.

Iroh did the math. Something involving Korra of which she was unaware but Tenzin wasn’t, and which made him afraid. Something that required the UF, Intelligence, and Foreign Relations, and perhaps Iroh individually, but not Chief Beifong or RCPD. Something which Osion, who loved the United Republic but treated both hereditary government and social programs with barely concealed contempt, was at least somewhat okay with, despite it posing some kind of security threat. Which meant it wasn’t a threat to the Republic at all. It was a threat to someone who lived here, who could be considered a high-ranking foreign national, and who, perhaps, she saw as one more antiquated tradition rather than a true asset.

“What steps have we taken to secure Avatar Korra?” Iroh said, cutting through the confused chatter. 

The talking stopped. 

“Secure me?” Korra asked. 

Iroh nodded. “Yes.” Some of the tension bled out of Tenzin’s face, seemingly grateful that he’d understood, which meant he was on the right track. 

President Osion, however, frowned. “I wasn’t aware that you’d been briefed, General,” she said, her voice considerably less friendly than when she’d greeted him. “I was under the impression that you were sick today.”

“No briefing,” Iroh said, ignoring the comment about his “illness.” He could omit, but drew the line at lying to his commanding officer outright. Usually. “Just inference. Obviously no one is getting to her in this room, but I assume the purpose of this meeting is to put in place just such a plan.” He met the president’s eyes steadily. “Am I wrong?”

“Excuse me!” Korra banged both her fists against her knees. “I’m right here! Somebody, Tenzin, Fireball, anybody, you need to tell me what’s going on. _Now.”_ Iroh bit his lip. Had she really just called him “Fireball” in front of the president? Korra wasn’t much for protocol, but he sincerely hoped no one had noticed that.

President Osion crossed her arms and pursed her lips. “Very well,” she said crisply. “I received two calls from the Fire Nation today. The first, as Ms. Sato will attest, was from Firelord Izumi’s private secretary. He announced that the Firelord and Princess Tai will be traveling to the United Republic at the same time as Crown Prince Kazai, Prince Matsu, and Crown Prince Wu of the Earth Kingdom.” Iroh blinked at that, caught completely off-guard. His _mother_ was coming? And she hadn’t even told him? Or perhaps she’d tried to get in touch while he’d been locked up? He felt Asami’s fingers gently brush his leg in reassurance. She must know he’d be surprised. 

“The second call,” Osion continued, “was from Lord Zuko, the former Firelord.” Iroh felt his jaw drop. His grandfather reaching out directly to a foreign leader instead of his mother was a gross breach of protocol. Why did it seem like everything in the world was suddenly going sideways? He snapped his mouth closed and tried to compose himself. That at least answered the question of why Tenzin had looked at him. “I trust all of you are familiar with the Order of the White Lotus?” she said.

“Yes, Madam President,” said Director Yawen. Everyone else more or less nodded. Iroh, of course, knew all about them, his great-grand-uncle and namesake having been the organization’s long-time leader.

“Then you’ll know that this organization has historically been in charge of the safety and in some part the training of the Avatar.”

“Did something happen to them?” Korra asked, her face concerned. She’d been half-raised by members of the Order of the White Lotus.

“Let me finish,” Osion said curtly. “One of the duties they now perform is the guarding of certain prisoners deemed a particular threat to the safety of the Avatar. Lord Zuko informed me today of the escape of one such high-security prisoner, which it turned out was actually the escape of two.” 

“Red Lotus,” whispered Tenzin. 

“What’s _red_ lotus?” asked Korra. “There’s a red one?”

“No,” Asami said. “There isn’t. The yin of the White Lotus is the White Dragon. Why would there be a Red Lotus? That’s ridiculous.” 

Iroh found himself smiling despite the gravity of the situation. He couldn’t help it. Asami was probably the only person in the room, besides himself, who would not only know that, but be indignant that the world’s secret societies hadn’t properly followed the rules of Pai Sho. He surreptitiously gave the back of her neck an affectionate scratch.

“It was a splinter group, not an opposite,” Tenzin said. He folded his arms behind his back. “They broke from the White Lotus shortly after the 100 Years War. From what I understand, they had a different interpretation of balance, and resented the support that the White Lotus gave to the Avatar because they viewed it as tipping the balance of the world artificially towards the spirit Raava. After losing a bid for control, they split entirely, calling themselves the Red Lotus. I’m not sure where the name came from; it’s far older than I am.”

“Artificially tipping the balance towards Raava?” Korra made a face. “That sounds just like Unalaq.”

“There’s a reason for that,” Iroh said quietly. Everyone turned to look at him, and he realized with a start that he’d spoken the comment out loud. Asami twisted in her chair, her beautiful face more strained than he’d realized. It hurt his heart to see her like that, especially when he had nothing but bad news. Iroh tapped his wedding band nervously on the back of the chair, then decided he may as well keep going. After all, everyone in the room was authorized, and Asami may as well hear it from him. “Chief Unalaq was a member of the Order of the Red Lotus,” he said. “It wasn’t found out until recently. His daughter, Eska, found the membership tile among his belongings—she shared this with me when I visited two months ago. It was a secret he guarded jealously, apparently even from his children. Perhaps if we’d known this in ‘71 we’d have better anticipated his plans, understood his endgame. It might have even brought the United Forces into the war. I’d like to think it would. There’s no way to argue targeting the Avatar is an internal Water Tribe squabble.” Iroh made himself stop there. His own secret involvement in the war was something he had no intention of sharing. Besides, his feelings on the topic were rather complicated. If the United Forces had answered the Avatar’s call instead of forcing him to go rogue, he may never have gotten to know Asami at all. 

“What is it with these guys?” Korra said, exasperated. “I don’t understand! Balance means harmony, making sure no one has an unfair advantage over others. It doesn’t mean ‘let’s prop up the bad guys when they’re losing.’”

“Unfortunately, that’s exactly what some think it means,” Tenzin said. 

“We’re getting off-topic,” said Director Yawen sharply. “Madam President, you said Lord Zuko alerted you to a prison break. I take it by my presence here this was not in the United Republic?”

“No,” Osion replied. Her voice was hard now. She clearly didn’t like the interruptions. “It wasn’t. Neither were. Now, if you will let me finish. Lord Zuko informed me of the escape of two prisoners of the White Lotus. The first, a man named Zaheer, was being held in a remote prison in the mountains to the north of Zaofu. Apparently, he escaped several years ago.”

Iroh felt something in his throat constrict. That wasn’t possible. From what he understood, Zaheer wasn’t just in the Order of the Red Lotus, he was, or had been, their leader. If he had escaped, the United Forces would have been told straight away. Wouldn’t they? And if they hadn’t...

“Years?” Tenzin sputtered, clearly just as shocked as Iroh. Tao let out a little gasp. _Shit._ So Intelligence hadn’t known, either. Exactly how bad of a fuck-up was this?

Osion clasped her hands on her lap. “Yes. Years. It seems that Queen Hou-Ting was _embarrassed”—_ the president spat the word like a curse _—_ “and put pressure on the guards not to tell anyone while she orchestrated the manhunt. This was around the same time as the rebellion in the Southwest Earth Kingdom, so the rest of the world had their hands full, not to mention the Earth Kingdom itself, and apparently the incident went unnoticed. This man, Zaheer, was never found, but as such he was seen as also doing no harm. After nearly two years, the search was abandoned. Zaheer was sentenced to life, and his prison was isolated. It seems the logic was that if no one could find him, no one would miss him, either. The stupidity, the sheer arrogance, is astounding.”

“So this Zaheer guy, what did he do?” Korra asked. “And what does it have to do with me? If he disappeared years ago, what’s all this about ‘secure the Avatar’?”

Iroh looked at Tenzin. He knew the basic outline, but it had happened years before he had joined the United Forces. The older man nodded slightly. “Zaheer and three other members of the Red Lotus tried to kidnap you, Korra. You were six. They nearly succeeded, too.”

For a moment there was stunned silence. Then Korra said in a small voice, “He tried to kill me?”

“Not kill.” Tenzin shook his head. “Kidnap. That was very clear. If they’d wanted to kill you, they could have done it easily. Zaheer and his companions never said why, even under interrogation, but none of them showed any remorse, either. Given the goals of the Order of the Red Lotus, I can’t imagine it was for any good purpose”

“Um,” Korra replied. “And you didn’t think a bunch of lunatics trying to kidnap me was something I should know about?”

“No,” Tenzin said firmly. 

Korra crossed her arms and glowered at him. “This should be fun. Why not?”

Tenzin sighed, then rubbed at the blue arrow tattoo on his bald head. “Because your father asked me not to.”

“My father knew?” Korra shouted. She jumped up off the couch. “You _both_ knew?” Iroh took an instinctive step to the left, putting himself in front of Tenzin. 

“Korra,” he said firmly. “Yell at him later. President Osion said two prisoners. Two. We need to hear her out.” He looked over at Osion, who gave him a faint smile. “Who was the second prisoner?”

“Thank you, General Iroh,” she said. Korra remained standing, her fists balled in anger, but didn’t interrupt. “As I was saying, Lord Zuko informed me that the White Lotus had lost two prisoners. The first was Zaheer. The second was a woman named Ming-Hua, a waterbender who was being kept in a similar isolation facility in a remote part of the Fire Nation. Unlike Zaheer, her escape did not go unreported. It seems Lord Zuko himself has ties to the White Lotus and was alerted immediately. It was only when he in turn contacted the Earth Queen that Zaheer’s escape was made known.”

“The two others?” Tenzin asked quickly. “Are they still secure?”

“As far as I know, yes.”

“This is an outrage,” said Director Yawen, her green eyes flashing. “What is the point of having a Department of Foreign Relations if our closest allies hide information of this magnitude?” She whipped her head to Director Tao. “And why didn’t Intelligence have this anyway?”

“And why did nobody tell me!” Korra spat. “I’m not a kid, I’m the freaking Avatar!” Suddenly her eyes found Iroh’s. “And _you,_ I thought we were friends! I’m used to Tenzin not telling me stuff, but why didn’t you?”

Iroh held up both hands, caught completely off-guard. What was he supposed to have told her? Besides, he’d had no idea that she hadn’t known.

Asami stood up. “That’s unfair, Korra. Iroh didn’t even know most of this himself.”

“I doubt that. He’s mister United Forces guy, and he knew all about those Red Lotus jerks and so did everyone in his family.”

“You can’t blame the Department of Intelligence for not knowing something a foreign power is deliberately hiding!” Tao shot back at Yawen. “I thought that’s why we had Foreign Relations. So they’d tell us when something important happened!”

“Lord Zuko himself only found out today!”

“I wasn’t about to go behind Chief Tonraq’s back!”

“I wasn’t finished!”

“Will you just listen?”

Iroh rubbed his forehead and took a deep breath. He focused, stretching the energies inside him, pulling them apart until the power crackled in his chest. Then he pushed past Asami and stepped up onto the glass coffee table. It squeaked dangerously under his weight. Iroh ignored it and clapped his hands together with all his strength, at the same time letting go. Lightning flashed from his palms as they collided, instantly filling the room with blinding blue-white light.

Everyone froze. Iroh wiped his palms on his trousers and stepped off the table. “Thank you,” he said. “I don’t like yelling.”

Tenzin seemed the first to recover, though his face was still slack with shock. “Iroh, that was incredibly dangerous.”

 _“You’re_ incredibly dangerous,” he snapped. His patience was gone, and anyway he had far more control over his lightning than that. “You all are. There are two people on the loose whose last stated objective was to kidnap the Avatar, one of whom has spent three years doing spirits knows what, and here we are fighting amongst ourselves.” He turned and bowed slightly to a stunned-looking Osion. “My apologies, Madam President, but the safety of Avatar Korra comes before figuring out who to blame. We need to assign her a guard, either from the United Forces or RCPD, effective immediately. Then we put all our efforts into learning where the prisoners are, what they are planning, and how they escaped, in that order. We do it with the support of the Fire Nation, the Earth Kingdom, and the Water Tribes if we can, and alone if we can’t, but we don’t wait.”

Iroh paused to take a breath. It was funny how easily he’d slipped back into commanding in a crisis. He’d forgotten how much he liked it. As he looked around though, he realized he’d just given the President of the United Republic something that sounded suspiciously like a direct order. He coughed a little. “At least, that is my recommendation.” 

President Osion’s blue eyes were like two daggers. Then she averted her gaze. Instead, she turned to Tenzin. “Unfortunately, we already know how they escaped.”

“We do?” Director Tao asked. 

“Yes.” Osion looked from Tenzin to Korra. “Apparently, they have an army of airbenders.”


	26. ASAMI

Iroh pulled her into a fierce hug as soon as her office door clicked shut. Asami wound her hands around his back and pulled him close, careful not to discharge the smacker nestled in her palm. Then she buried her face in his neck and simply breathed him in, the high collar of his uniform a scratchy comfort against her cheek. They stood like that for a while, not talking, Iroh’s warm weight more reassuring than any words would have been. 

“What’s happening?” she whispered. 

“She’s in good hands,” Iroh said. He kissed the top of her head. “I promise.” He gave her a final embrace and stepped back, dropping his hands to her upper arms. He was still worried, Asami could see it on his face, but he was trying. “Between the police and the United Forces, no one will get even close to Korra. Not to mention beat her. She’s not a kid anymore, and she’s on her guard. I’m not sure there’s anyone in the world who could take her in a straight fight, let alone with help.” He squeezed her arms again and something flickered across his face. Guilt? 

“Iroh?”

He let out a long breath and dropped his hands. His shoulders seemed to droop a little. “You know I’d guard her myself if things were different, right? I’m doing the best I know how under the circumstances.”

Asami shook her head. “I know. It isn’t that.” Of course she didn’t blame him, even without all the weirdness he wasn’t a bodyguard, but she didn’t know how to put it. There was just so much. It was like over the last two days the whole world had come apart at the seams. Iroh’s missing time, not to mention the fact that he’d attacked someone and spent the night in jail because of it, the visit from Master Yue, President Osion dumping the royal visit on her while at the same time tying her hands, the escape of the Red Lotus prisoners, and now they’d finally found Fire Nation airbenders only to discover they were helping the bad guys? Spirits, it had even snowed. About the only thing that had gone well since Iroh’s fake birthday was her tests with Mo the Mobile Healing Center, and even that had wound up with Korra asking her for a job. 

Iroh seemed to guess some of her thinking. How little she had to spell things out was one of the wonderful things about him. “There’s something else,” he said. “I mean, something additional. New.” It wasn’t a question.

There were actually a few things, but one seemed more pressing than the others. Asami took his hand and squeezed a little. “Iroh, before anything else, I need to ask you something. Whatever the answer is, I promise I won’t judge you, but I need to know the truth.”

Iroh went a little pale, but nodded. “Of course. Anything.” 

“Are you, or have you ever, taken a drug called Si-Wong?”

He furrowed his brows, but didn’t answer right away. “No,” he said finally. “At least, not that I’m aware of. I was on a lot of antibiotics in Zaofu and back in SWE, and some painkillers as well. I don’t recall all of the names. I’m sure there are records though, if it’s important.”

“Not that kind of drug, Iroh. It’s a drug drug. Also called Bliss, Silly, or Cactus Juice?”

His eyes widened a little. “Oh. That kind of drug. No, of course not. Even if I wasn’t, well, me, that kind of thing will get you kicked out of the Forces faster than you can say ‘discharge.’ The worst I ever did was smoke a few cigarettes, and that was over ten years ago.” He gave her a questioning look. “Why?”

Asami felt her throat constrict. She could tell by his face that he wasn’t lying. Which, if Master Yue wasn’t lying either, left only one terrifying possibility.

***

“You went through my things?” Asami flinched. He wasn’t yelling, but the quiet shock in his voice was almost worse. 

“I didn’t know what else to do!” They were in the kitchen now. For some reason most of their fights were in the kitchen. Neither she nor Iroh had wanted to stay at RCCC, not with everything else going on, but it had taken him until they’d gotten home to remember finding the bathroom cabinet ajar. Asami had been honest about looking for any Si-Wong, and now he was throwing that honesty back in her face. “You were locked up, Iroh! They wouldn’t let me see you without an officer. Did you want me asking you if you were on drugs in front of the cops?”

“You shouldn’t have had to ask!” Iroh really was yelling now. “I’d never keep something like that from you. It’s bad enough someone drugged me and got me arrested, I don’t need you framing me, too. Goddammit, we’ve been through this! What is it going to take for you to trust me?” Suddenly Iroh spun and slammed his palm into the wall behind him. He stayed like that, his back to her as he braced against the wall. He was breathing hard, obviously trying to get himself under control. 

“Don’t be so self-righteous,” Asami snapped. All of a sudden she was furious. The world didn’t revolve around Iroh, and he wasn’t the only one having a hard time. “Do you have any idea what this is like for me? My best friend is being hunted, my husband is attacking people and can’t remember it to the point he insists I go around armed, and I’m just supposed to just sit here? I was doing it for you! If I found anything I was going to destroy it. That’s a fucking felony, Iroh. Don’t act like you’re the only one with something to lose.”

“Were you even going to tell me?” he asked quietly. “Or were you hoping I wouldn’t notice?”

“Go to hell.” Asami grabbed her coat from the rack near the door and snatched her purse off the counter. 

“Asami—”

She snapped the lock, yanked open the front door, and slammed it behind her. 

***

Asami poked at her noodles. She wasn’t hungry. Kashiba’s was nearly empty; it was still on the early side, and Mondays were slow anyway. After she’d stormed out of the house she hadn’t known where to go, so had ended up at the little hole-in-the-wall down the street almost by default. Even as angry as she was, she wasn’t about to tell anyone what they’d been fighting about. His fault or no, Iroh would come up positive for Si-Wong if any healer who knew what they were looking for checked, and she couldn’t take that risk. If someone was trying to frame him for a crime, or worse, get him to commit one, Asami wasn’t about to help.

The bell over the door jingled. A few moments later a shadow fell over her. “I thought I might find you here,” Iroh said. He sounded exhausted. “Mind if I sit?” 

Asami didn’t say anything, but nodded her head to the stool next to her. She had no idea how Iroh had known she’d be at Kashiba’s if she hadn’t known herself that’s where she was going, but he had. He was funny like that. Sometimes it felt like he knew her better than she did.

He sat down heavily beside her, then leaned against the counter. “I owe you an apology,” he said. “So let’s start there. Asami, I’m sorry. I have a lot of excuses for how I acted, but none of them are good enough. I’m not going to qualify it.”

Asami stirred her noodles. “All right.” She hadn’t forgiven him, not yet, but it was a start.

“I also have an important question to ask you. Maybe the most important one. May I do that?”

She nodded, still not looking at him. 

“How long did Master Yue say this drug is detectable?” Asami finally turned to face him. Iroh was looking at her intently, his face sober. Something in her softened a little. He was just as scared as she was, and here they were taking it out on one another. “Please,” Iroh said. “If you can remember.”

She thought about it. “He said several weeks, I think. And that it was impossible to tell the difference between a big dose and lots of little doses because it builds up or something.” 

Iroh closed his eyes and grimaced. “I think I know what happened,” he said. “Or at least some of it.” Then he looked at her and set his jaw, his golden eyes suddenly angry. “And I’m going to _fucking_ kill them.”


	27. ASAMI

“I need to talk to Matsu,” Iroh said softly. To others he might sound polite, but Asami knew him well enough to hear the quiet fury in his voice. In that moment she wouldn’t trade places with his brother for all the gold in the treasury. _“Yes,_ now. I don’t care if he’s—”

Asami closed the front door behind her with a soft click, wanting to give him his privacy. She wasn’t entirely sure what was going on—Iroh had asked if he could confirm his suspicions before telling her to avoid any more confusion—but she wasn’t stupid, either. He’d been drugged without his knowledge. He’d abruptly left the tour with his brothers, and when he’d told her why it had been obvious it wasn’t the whole story. And he’d said the most important question was how long Si-Wong could be detected by someone like Master Yue. Now he was on the phone to Matsu, who she figured between him and Kazai was the most likely to tell the truth under pressure instead of being defensive. 1+1+1+1= Iroh’s brothers, or at least Matsu, had done something to him during the trip that had upset him enough to make him leave, and that now also probably included slipping him drugs. What she had no idea of was, why?

As Asami rode the elevator down to the street, her first thought was that they were probably just being assholes. She had no siblings herself, and as her mother’s two sisters had been estranged since her childhood she had no relationship with whatever cousins there might be on that side either, but she wasn’t completely clueless. She’d watched her friends in school, and people like Mako and Bolin or the airbender kids, and had a pretty good idea of the range of sibling dynamics. Iroh and his brothers were close, but he was also several years younger, and there seemed to be a long pattern of pushing him around. Matsu and Kazai could talk him, guilt him, and trick him into things nobody else could. Slipping their quiet, serious kid brother a party drug just to see what would happen sounded exactly like the kind of thing they might do. And Prince Wu wasn’t exactly known for his good judgement. It was a wonder neither she nor Iroh had seen it sooner.

But if that were the case, it was also an extraordinary coincidence that Iroh had had symptoms of a Si-Wong overdose yesterday—and spirits, had that only been yesterday? Anything the other princes might have given Iroh on their trip would have had to have been more than a month ago at least, so there’s no way it could be responsible for his recent missing time or what he’d done with it. Was there? Asami shook her head and adjusted the gym bag over her shoulder. Hopefully by the time she got back Iroh would have some answers. 

She pushed her way through the door of Isthuma Mixed Martial Arts ten minutes later. The warm air of the front hallway hit her like a soft, familiar blanket. One of the best parts about moving in with Iroh all those years ago, aside from the Iroh part, was that nearly everything she needed was walking distance from his, now their, apartment. Work, food, shopping, even the ferry to Air Temple Island. And, of course, kickboxing. Asami had taken classes at IMMA three or four times a week for years, and Monday was her regular day. She hadn’t planned on going, not with having hardly slept and everything else going on, but at the last minute she’d grabbed her workout clothes and headed out anyway. It was as much exercise as it was stress relief, and spirits knew she had some stress right now. 

It was also a chance to socialize. Asami had always been more of a people person than Iroh and, while not as outgoing as Bolin or Korra, she enjoyed things like group exercise classes. So, it turned out, had Opal. 

Asami saw her as soon as she opened the door to the locker room. Opal was already dressed in a pair of tight red pants and a loose-fitting yellow shirt. She’d pinned her short brown hair back off her face and was busy wrapping her hands. She smiled brightly as Asami entered. 

“Hey! I didn’t think you were coming.”

“I nearly didn’t,” Asami said, swinging her own bag onto the bench. She stripped out of her shirt and folded it, unhooked her bra, then unzipped her bag and started digging. Asami had never been particularly shy about her body, and anyway she and Opal had seen each other naked or nearly a few times a week for more than two years, not to mention most of the other women in the locker room. “But Iroh had some stuff to take care of, and anyway I can use the break.” 

“Oh, he’s out? Thank goodness. I hope it was all a misunderstanding.” Asami paused at that. Opal hadn’t been in the briefing with Osion, and neither had Bolin, or even Mako. Not only would she not know about Iroh’s release, but she wouldn’t know about the Red Lotus or, especially, the new airbenders that seemed to be helping them. Asami couldn’t share classified information, even with her close friends. She’d have to be careful tonight. 

She flashed Opal a wry smile. “Let’s just say it’s been a long day. Honestly, beating the shit out of something sounds pretty good right now.”

Opal grinned. “Not partnering with you tonight, got it.”

Asami threw a sock at her. 

***

Asami stepped into the shower and let the steam take her. Steam was almost better than water in her opinion. She loved the way it sank into her pores, into her lungs, warming every bit of her from the outside in. She stretched, pulling her sore muscles taut under the hot water. Her shoulders ached, but it was a good ache, the kind that would fade to a satisfying stiffness that felt like accomplishment. She’d worked herself hard, trying to take all of her tension and fear and frustration out on her hapless sparring partners. It wouldn’t solve any of her problems, but it might at least keep her from lashing out at Iroh from sheer stress. He didn’t deserve that, and neither did she.

As the water ran down her body she closed her eyes. She thought of her dream house—not her father’s estate, but the house she’d designed in her mind over the years—and the giant steam room she’d have there. The walls would be lined with dark, fragrant slate, with a long bench and maybe a tub as well. Little shelves stuck out here and there, displaying bright green ferns and mosses of the kind that were common in high-end Water Tribe saunas. She could spend an hour at a time in there stretched out bare on the warm wet stone, condensation dripping down the sides of her slowly melting pitcher of ice water, and maybe after a while Iroh would come looking for her, nothing but a towel slung low across the sharp V of his hips, and—

“Hey, princess, you want that ice cream or no?” Opal bent over and rubbed her head vigorously with a fluffy white towel. Her short hair stuck up in a spray of spikes that she quickly combed back. “It’s getting late.”

Asami blinked, shaking herself out of the daydream. “Coming, I swear,” she called, and started scrubbing. 

She didn’t usually shower at IMMA since she lived so close, but Opal had asked if she wanted to hang out a little after and Asami had found that she did. If she picked up some chocolate ice cream for Iroh on the way out, she could even say she was doing it for him. She wasn’t as close to Opal as she was to Korra, but over the years she’d found the other woman’s kind heart and easygoing nature a welcome break from the Avatar’s brash cynicism. In a lot of ways, their relationship was helped by the fact they’d met later in life. All of the weirdness with Mako, the battle with her father and his imprisonment, the disintegration of many of her former school relationships, her takeover of Future Industries, her appointment at the RCCC, and the semi-secret whirlwind of her early relationship with Iroh were only stories to Opal. She knew Asami as she was today and, in an odd way, that gave her a unique perspective. Her friendship with the young airbender had been a welcome clean slate.

“Glad to have your place to yourself again?” Asami asked as she pushed open the front door. The biting cold felt good against her hot skin. There were quite a few people out, it being about the time the dinner crowd either broke up or moved on to their next activity. They turned left and started walking the few blocks to the ice cream shop.

“And how,” sighed Opal. Then her cheeks went a little pink. “I’m sorry, that came out a bit unkind.”

“Not at all,” Asami said. “Your apartment isn’t exactly the Grand Republic. Come to think of it, I’m surprised that Kuvira didn’t stay in a hotel.” 

“You and me both. But I couldn’t exactly turn her down, especially since we have the extra bedroom. Kuvira and I have a complicated relationship, but she’s still my sister. And I want her to get to know Bolin, too. You know, just in case he’s around a while...” She trailed off. 

Asami smiled. Iroh had told her about the conversation he and Bolin had had, though his angle had been less about gossip and more checking for the hundredth time that his own spur-of-the-moment proposal hadn’t somehow cheated her out of some required grand romantic gesture. Asami, who had been lied to about love quite enough in her life, thought the heartfelt sincerity of the moment was perhaps the only thing that wouldn’t have completely terrified her, and told him so. Again. 

“I think getting to know Bolin is a good investment,” she said vaguely, not wanting to spoil any of her friend’s plans. “How’d they get on?”

Opal laughed. “Oh, you know Bolin. He sees the good in everyone. He said Kuvira’s ‘the greatest’ and is half convinced he wants to join the Zaofu guard now.” 

Asami snorted at that. Bolin was two years younger than her and, with Fire Ferrets officially on hiatus and the Nuktuk series concluded, had struggled a bit to find his calling. It seemed every week he had a new career idea. “And Kuvira?”

“She’s a bit harder to read,” Opal said. The young woman’s smile faded a bit. 

“She doesn’t approve?”

“No, nothing like that.” She paused, thoughtful. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but Kuvira’s like… like the worst of Iroh and Mako combined.” Asami blinked at that. “What I mean is,” Opal said quickly, “imagine someone with Iroh’s sense of duty and Mako’s sense of humor. It comes from a good place, but she’s a bit hard on everybody.”

“Oh.” Asami thought about it. “So she’s the anti-Bolin?”

Opal’s smile returned. “Why do you think I fell for him?”

They rounded the corner. Asami was getting colder now, the near-freezing temperature feeling like it was turning her wet hair to ice. She zipped her coat up all the way to her chin and tried to think warm thoughts. Why had Opal suggested ice cream of all things?

“Asami?” 

Asami jerked her head up. A young woman was looking at her, seemingly having come from the opposite direction. She was dressed in a long, dark brown coat and was pushing a stroller, one of the long ones. She’d cut her dark hair into a fashionable bob, so it took Asami a moment to recognize her. 

“Bao?” 

The woman broke into a tired smile. “I thought that was you!” She turned to Opal. “I’m so sorry to interrupt. I’m Bao Hui. Asami and I went to school together.” 

“Nice to meet you,” said Opal. “Opal Beifong.”

“Sorry, I’m a bit of a mess,” Asami said, then bit her lip. It was funny how quickly old habits returned, such as apologizing for not being as pretty as Bao. She wasn’t even sure that was true anymore. Bao was as nicely dressed as ever, not a hair out of place, but she looked… worn, somehow. Twenty four going on 40. Maybe she was only tired though. Asami tucked an errant strand of wet hair behind one ear and gestured behind her. “Opal and I do kickboxing together.”

Bao laughed a bit. “I’m not surprised. You and all those self-defense classes. And Tahno told me how you nearly broke his arm one year at Tachi’s.”

“You still talk to Tahno?” Asami asked. She loved pro-bending, and had gone to a few Wolfbats games over the years, but she hadn’t actually spoken to him since the incident Bao mentioned. Tahno had been two years ahead of them in school, and they’d never exactly been friends.

“Oh.” Bao looked a little embarrassed. “You didn’t know? We got married a few years ago.” She wiggled her finger and a diamond flashed.

Asami didn’t know what to say to that. She hadn’t even known Bao and Tahno had been dating. 

Opal crouched in front of the stroller, a big smile on her face. “And who are these fine young gentlemen?” she asked, her voice a sing-songy whisper. 

“Baron and Pakan,” Bao said. She looked affectionately at the stroller. “Almost two.”

“Congratulations,” said Asami. She peered under the hood of the stroller. Two children stared back at her with wide blue-green eyes so pale they were almost white. She gave them a little wave. They blinked back at her. 

“So what have you been up to?” Asami asked. She wasn’t quite sure how to react. She hadn’t spoken to Bao in years, not since she’d called Iroh boring and pitied her for dating him.

Bao nodded to the stroller. “Mostly this. They take up so much time. And now that Tahno is at his father’s bank most of the time it’s up to me to keep everything else going. That, plus keeping in shape and making sure we don’t drop too far out of the circuit is about all I can handle.”

“Sounds like a lot,” Asami said. She didn’t quite understand though. Was all Bao really did look after babies and keep house and try to stay pretty and popular?

“No need to ask what you’ve been up to,” the other woman said with a small laugh. “A few years ago it seemed like they couldn’t keep you out of the papers. Leading half the things in Republic City it sounds like.” She smiled a little. “And you married Prince Iroh, too. I knew he was paying too much attention to you for it to just be friends. Well done.”

Asami bit back a retort. “I did,” she said firmly. 

“Kids?”

“No, it’s just us. And Ling. She’s our fish.”

Bao glanced at her watch. “‘Sami, I’ve got to run,” she said. “I don’t want to be late to Baby Benders.”

“Baby benders?” Bending ability usually didn’t manifest until closer to three. Her twins would be way too young.

Bao smiled, a little wistfully. “It’s a little early, I know, but Tahno has such high hopes they’ll be famous waterbenders. At least one of them. He wanted to get an early start, and Baby Benders gets them used to the idea. They can start on basic concepts so, if it does turn out they have talent, they’ll have a head start. But it was great running into you. We should get coffee some time.” 

Asami knew they wouldn’t.

***

She put Iroh’s chocolate ice cream in the freezer and walked into the living room. Iroh himself was laying on the couch, a book propped up on his chest. He closed it with a snap and took off his glasses, placing both on the coffee table. “Hey,” he said tiredly. “Feel better?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Not really,” Iroh said. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, as if distracted. “I’m tired of yelling. But there are some things I need to tell you.” 

Asami knelt down on the end of the couch by his feet. “Does it have to be now?” She was suddenly exhausted. All she wanted to do was curl up with him and forget their fight. Spirits, forget the whole day.

Iroh smiled a little, seemingly understanding her offer of forgiveness without either of them having to say it. Asami leaned forward and crawled on top of him, resting her head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her back and kissed her head. 

“I suppose not,” he said. “It’s nothing that will be any different in the morning.” 

Ling’s filter burbled steadily in the background. Iroh’s chest went up and down in a slow, comforting rhythm. Whatever chaos tomorrow might bring, at least they had this now. Asami started to drift off, going over the events of the day. For no reason at all she found herself thinking of her conversation with the assistant, Joo Dee, and then about her run-in with Bao. 

“Iroh,” she said. “Why does no one call me director?”

He didn’t answer right away. “It’s not your title,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “The civilian liaison is director-level, but ‘director’ is nowhere in the name. No one calls me director, either, probably for the same reason. Why?”

“It’s not because I’m a girl?” 

“Huh?” Iroh sat up a little. “No, of course not. Look at Yawen.”

“Okay. And you’re not upset that I took the position? That on top of Future Industries takes up so much time. I don’t even cook, let alone manage our social life.”

“What? Asami, I recruited you, and neither of us want you to cook. And what social life? Where is this coming from?” He sounded concerned now.

Asami snuggled down into his chest again. He was so warm. “It’s not important.”


	28. IROH

_Five weeks ago…_

Iroh groaned and rubbed his eyes. His head pounded. The sunshine glaring through the small window bored into him like a spotlight. He instinctively rolled over and reached for Asami. His hand hit the metal wall of the ship with a thunk.

“Ow,” he muttered. He curled his hand under his chin and buried his face in his pillow. He felt awful, but at least he knew where he was now. His cabin on the _Honorbound._ No home, no Asami. No cool hands to stroke the back of his neck or fetch him water and a few aspirin from the bathroom or read to him a little while he laid on the couch feeling sorry for himself. Iroh was hardly ever sick, and as a result he knew he was terrible at it. Asami teased him for being the world’s worst patient, but as she usually did it while rubbing his head and being generally very nice to him, he didn’t mind. After all, she wasn’t wrong.

It was another minute before the significance of where he was sunk in. _Honorbound._ Ba Sing Se. And, of course, Kazai’s meeting with Queen Hou-Ting. _Shit._

Iroh hauled himself up, grimacing at the sick feeling in his stomach. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but the fact that it was light meant that he was almost certainly late. Today of all days. The Earth Queen was a lot of things, but understanding wasn’t one of them. Neither was she a fan of the Fire Nation in general, or, after his role in negotiating a path to autonomy for Southwest Earth Kingdom, of Iroh in particular. However badly he felt, he had to make himself presentable, at least for a couple of hours.

Iroh swung his legs off the bed and whacked his heels hard into the floor. He cursed. Loudly. This clearly wasn’t his morning. He had lived on various battleships for almost eight years, and while his particular quarters had changed the basic layout of the ships had all been similar. But those had been United Forces ships. The _Honorbound_ was a Fire Nation ship and, in odd but important ways, very different. For example, the heights of the beds. United Forces ships had beds that were more or less the same height as beds on land, but Fire Nation ships still used traditional pallet beds that were no more than six inches off the floor. 

Iroh grumbled and rubbed his heels, then stood and padded across the reed mats to the bathroom. He washed his face in the sink before remembering that he needed to shower anyway. Spirits, what was wrong with him? It felt like someone had stuffed his brain with cotton. Not to mention beaten him with something hard and blunt. Iroh searched his face in the mirror, noted his red eyes and slightly puffy skin, and swore again. He didn’t remember having all that much to drink last night, but either he’d lost track—it had happened before—or he really was getting sick. Either way, it was shaping up to be a long day.

It wasn’t until he was hurrying up to the deck that Iroh realized how much he’d had to drink wasn’t the only thing he couldn’t remember. Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t recall much of anything that had happened after the first bar. He’d ordered a beer, his go-to if an occasion seemed to require a polite social drink, but beyond that he wasn’t sure. At some point they’d left and gone somewhere else, Iroh knew that much. He remembered walking in the dark, then going into another bar or club of some sort with a lot of lights. They’d met some people? That part was even less clear. After that, it was all a blur.

Well, if he’d had enough to drink to make him black out, no wonder he felt like shit. But something about it troubled him. Iroh had only been well and truly drunk a handful of times in his life, most of it when he was still a teenager. Usually he just got touchy and found everything a little too funny. Matsu had jokingly called him an “affectionate drunk” and, while Iroh wasn’t proud of it, it seemed an apt enough description. But he’d never once forgotten an evening—even when he’d wished he had. 

Iroh shielded his eyes as he walked out onto the deck. In the clear light of morning, Ba Sing Se looked massive. The _Honorbound_ had docked near the south side of the city, it being too large a ship to sail to the inner docks. The pale walls of the outer ring rose two hundred feet in the air and perhaps three-quarters of a mile in either direction. It was amazing to think that anyone from the Fire Nation, let alone Iroh’s own ancestors, had looked at those massive walls and thought they could take them. Yet take them they had, not once but twice, and it wasn’t something the Earth Kingdom royal family, nor many of its citizens, had ever forgotten. In a lot of ways, Ba Sing Se was the most challenging stop on their tour.

 _Ba Sing Se!_ Iroh thought abruptly. _Port!_ He brightened. Port meant post. Iroh abruptly turned and jogged to the mail room, ignoring the pounding in his head and the lateness of the hour, and grabbed the stack of letters in the little cubby marked with his name. He sifted through them quickly, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He loved mail days. There were six (six!) letters from Asami in the stack, each postmarked a different day. He sorted them by date, then pulled out the most recent. He liked to read them in reverse order so that if something major happened he’d know right away. He opened it carefully, tucking the rest of the stack tightly under his arm as he trotted in the direction of the dining room.

_I-_

The abrupt greeting made him pause. Asami’s letters were generally playful and her salutations deliberately ridiculous, opening with things like “Dear General Studmuffin” or “Dear Third String Fire Prince.” The use of first initials was more what they did at home when they needed to leave a quick note. _I- Small electrical fire. No damage, but that’s the smell. Taking the whole mess to the workshop, back soon. Sorry. -A,_ things like that. It was a sign that she was either rushed, not in a good mood, or both. Iroh furrowed his brow and kept reading.

_Things just went from bad to worse. This morning we did a full inspection of the line that manufactures the light pedestrian bridges, and it turns out one of the liquid thermoplastic nozzles was blocked. It sounds like a small thing, but it means that the materials mix is off. It makes the whole thing brittle. Remember the time we had to land so I could patch the biplane? Same problem, or close enough. There’s no way to know how long it’s been an issue, so we’re going to have to inspect every single bridge we’ve manufactured. I can get RCCC to put in the manpower, but Future Industries is eating the cost. It’s a disaster. I’m writing this from the inside of an unmarked office on the third floor just so my CFO can’t find me…_

The letter went on to detail Asami’s plan for inspecting the bridges, then followed up on a few things he had said in his last letter. There were other signs all was not well though. She’d missed the pro-bending championship game because she said she needed to work late (Red Sands Rabaroos had won), and seemed to be staying at the townhouse now instead of their apartment. Iroh didn’t like it. Asami was incredibly tough and resilient, and generally shrugged things off—far better than he did, in fact. But stress, extreme stress, always made her retreat. If she was avoiding both friends and home, she was well and truly upset.

_I’m sure you’ll be well past the North Pole by the time you get this. Ba Sing Se? I hope your time there went well. Are Desna and Eska as creepy and weird as Bolin says they are? Even if they aren’t, please make something up to distract me. Give at least one of them tentacles._

_Spirits I wish you were here. I can say that, can’t I? I’ll try to be patient. I loved the last call, so let me know next time you might be able to find a telephone and I’ll be ready. I’ll wait all day. I wouldn’t miss your voice for the world._

_All my love always._

_-A_

Iroh read the letter one more time, troubled. Then he folded it carefully and slipped it back into the stack with the others. He clearly had some catching up to do.

***

He found Matsu in the long formal dining room, an empty plate before him. There was no sign of Kazai. 

“Sleeping beauty finally joins us,” his brother said with a smile as he walked over. Like Iroh, he had dressed formally for the occasion. The outfit was mostly black trimmed with rich gold, made from the finest koala sheep wool in the Fire Nation. The cut was rather old-fashioned, with pointed shoulders, short, wide sleeves, and a skirt-like pleated tunic over loose maroon pants and knee-high boots. Iroh’s version had a long-sleeved shirt underneath; it was a little hot, but it meant he could cover the worst of his scarring. He’d come a long way towards not being ashamed of it, but he found it easier to avoid questions. 

Iroh grunted, half his mind still on Asami’s letter. He scanned the mostly empty breakfast table, then took a roll from a basket. He stuffed it unceremoniously into his mouth, hesitated, then grabbed a second. It would have to do.

Matsu eyed him critically. Spirits, he didn’t even look tired, let alone hungover. “Scratch the beauty part. You look like hell, Ro Ro. And you missed breakfast.” 

“I’ll manage,” Iroh said. “And don’t call me that.” It had actually been Tai’s name for him when she first started talking, “Iroh” having been a bit of a stretch. Matsu only used it because he knew it annoyed him. 

“I’m serious,” Matsu said. His face still projected good humor, but his amber eyes looked concerned. “You okay? You look awful.”

“Fwm.” Iroh swallowed the last of the roll, then snatched Matsu’s half-finished glass of mango juice and drained it. “Fine,” he said again. He wasn’t going to have his brothers add not holding his liquor to their long list of things to tease him about. “Where’s Kazai?”

A shadow passed over his brother’s face. “He’ll meet us on the dock.” 

Iroh frowned, but didn’t push it. As long as they weren’t late. Matsu heaved himself to his feet and they made their way back out onto the deck, Iroh munching thoughtfully at his second roll. “Mat,” he asked as they walked towards the dock, “I didn’t embarrass myself last night, did I?” 

Matsu didn’t turn. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I don’t remember a whole lot. I’ve never had that before.” Iroh reached up and rubbed his temples a little. The aspirin he’d taken in his room had helped, but he still had a nasty headache. “I don’t really drink.”

“You were pretty lit at your wedding.”

“That was my friend Mako’s fault,” Iroh said darkly. Mako was also, incidentally, the reason he’d spent his wedding night puking his guts out in a distinctly unromantic fashion instead of making love to his new wife. One day he might even forgive him. “And anyway that was two years ago. It’s not a common occurrence. But I’ve never just blacked out like that.”

“Nothing embarrassing,” Matsu said. “You’re pretty funny, actually.” 

Iroh groaned inwardly. If Matsu thought he was funny, he’d probably made a complete ass of himself. If it had just been the three of them that might not have even been that bad, but Prince Wu didn’t seem like someone with much discretion. The last thing he needed was someone like Wu telling stories about his drunken antics all over Ba Sing Se.

As they approached the entrance to the gangplank his attention was caught by what was unmistakably a woman’s laugh. His brother seemed to tense slightly. Iroh stepped forwards and saw a green-robed woman walking away from the ship. She was medium height and rather petite, with long, straight brown hair and the light tan skin typical of the Earth Kingdom. Behind her stood Kazai. He was dressed in an outfit nearly identical to Iroh and Matsu’s, with the exception of the sharp gray epaulettes that designated the crown prince. And he was, unmistakably, watching the young woman leave, a lazy smile on his face. 

Iroh closed his eyes. He wasn’t stupid. Nor was he precisely surprised. 

“Let it go, Iroh,” Matsu said quietly. “It’s not our business.”

“How can you just look the other way?”

“How can you not? It’s his life.”

“This trip isn’t about his life, Mat. He’s supposed to be introducing the future Firelord to the leaders of the other nations, building credibility, not—”

Iroh felt his brother’s hand on his back. “Drop it, Iroh. Please.”

***

Iroh didn’t drop it. But he gave himself credit for waiting until the end of the day. 

He found Kazai in his quarters just after dinner, where he’d gone to change out of his formal robes into something more casual. His brother being who he was, it was about the only time Iroh could hope to catch him alone. It had become evident during their day at the palace that Kazai and Prince Wu had become fast friends; or rather, as far as Iroh could tell, Kazai found Wu and his city connections useful and amusing, and Wu was willing to interpret this as flattery. Another outing had been planned for later that evening. Iroh had politely declined, saying he didn’t feel well. Apparently he’d looked bad enough that no one had questioned him.

“Does Inae know?” Iroh asked. He hadn’t meant to begin there, but he realized with a start that he was angry. Not just worried about perceptions or disapproving of his brother’s recklessness, but actually angry.

Kazai looked up sharply from his seat on the bed, one black boot still in his hand. “Know what?”

“You’re going to make me say it?”

His brother gave him a hard look. “Iroh, we’re all adults. Back off.”

Iroh squared his shoulders. “No. I love you, Kaz, but I can’t… what made you think that was okay? You’re not just my brother. You’re going to be my Firelord. How am I supposed to feel knowing you can’t keep an oath, and not only that, don’t seem to care?”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Iroh.” Kazai narrowed his eyes in the same way I-mom did when she considered something beneath her. “It’s just a bit of fun. Not everyone has had years of practice putting their balls on ice every time they set foot on a ship.”

“We’re not talking about me.” 

“Or maybe yours have always been that way?” Kazai pulled on his remaining boot and stood. He made a point of looking Iroh up and down. “I honestly could never tell. It would explain a lot though.”

Iroh ground his teeth. There it was again. Somehow, siblings always wielded the sharpest knives. Well, two could play at that game. “Are you sure you want to talk about who has fire where, Kaz?”

His brother’s golden eyes, Iroh’s eyes, flashed in anger. “Get out.” 

Iroh stood his ground. “No. Not until you promise me you’re going to take a little responsibility.”

Kazai strode forwards and shoved past him out into the hallway. “I’ll tell Inae when you tell Asami, you righteous hypocrite,” he growled. Then he disappeared around the corner, and was gone.

Iroh stood alone in the empty corridor, shaken. Tell Asami what?


	29. ASAMI

Asami could feel him before she even opened her eyes. Iroh was wrapped completely around her, one arm underneath her neck, the other curled around her chest, both knees tucked up behind her own. He had a tendency to drift over to her side of the bed in the middle of the night, and all the more so when he was stressed or otherwise not sleeping well. Asami, who slept on her side anyway, had always secretly adored it. There was something about waking up inside a big Iroh cocoon that made her feel needed on a level so basic he did it while he was unconscious. It had been a long time since anyone else had loved her like that.

It was unusual for her to be the first one awake though. Asami had always been the late riser. But she could tell by the deep, slow breaths into the back of her neck that Iroh was still very much asleep. He must have been as exhausted as her. She had actually fallen asleep on him on the couch the night before and had only vague memories of being half walked, half carried to bed later on. Asami twined her hand in his and gave it a little squeeze. Today was one of her Future Industries days, so she could afford a later start, but presumably Iroh was expected at RCCC. She wished she could let him sleep, but he’d want her to wake him. He hated being late.

Iroh made a soft sound into her hair, then mumbled, “Damn.” He must have realized the time as well.

Asami rolled over and threw an arm around him. He gave her a warm, sleepy kiss. She giggled and kissed him back, snuggling against his warm body. Iroh did not make getting up easy, especially in cold weather. She rested her forehead against his chin and closed her eyes. One more minute wouldn’t hurt.

“Asami.” Something about the tone of his voice caught her attention. 

“Hmm?” She pulled back a little to meet his eyes. He looked completely awake now. Spirits she had no idea how he did that, going from fast asleep to alert in seconds. Asami wasn’t entirely sure she could manage a complete sentence if pressed.

“We need to talk,” Iroh said. “Before anything else, okay?” His eyes seemed worried now, and perhaps something else. Hurt? Asami tried to kick her brain into gear. Right. His phone calls last night. They’d put off talking about it because they were tired, and that had probably been a good idea. Still, he couldn’t spring it on her first thing, either.

“Tea?” Asami mumbled. “I need to wake up a minute. I know it’s important but not everyone here is General Morningpants.”

Iroh nodded. His face softened a little and he gave her another gentle kiss. “I should know better. I’ll put some on. Take your time.”

Asami came out of the bathroom about 15 minutes later. It turned out they’d both slept a lot later than usual, but having showered the previous evening she’d used the time in-between to get ready so that she could leave for Future Industries right after. Iroh, it seemed, was on a slower path after all, and must not be planning on going to City Hall right away. Instead, he’d thrown on a pair of warmups and an old red t-shirt and was sitting at the table, looking adorably rumpled. 

He nudged a mug of tea towards her as she crossed the kitchen. “Have a seat.”

Asami pulled out a chair, her smile fading. She’d been trying to keep things lighthearted, knowing that whatever had happened was likely bad news. After all, Iroh had said he’d done a lot of yelling, and he wasn’t someone who yelled often. But as she sat down she realized that “bad news” might be an understatement. Now that she was more awake, she could see that Iroh was more than worried and a little disheveled. He looked nearly distraught. 

“Iroh, what’s going on?” She pulled her tea close but didn’t drink it. “What did Matsu say?”

“You deserve to know everything,” Iroh said, his voice tight. The knuckles around his teacup were white. “I hope…” He trailed off, as if not sure how to continue.

Asami tried to smile, ignoring the worry in the pit of her stomach. “Just tell me,” she said, with as much reassurance as she could muster. Whatever it was, it would be better if they could face it together. If it was true that one or both of his brothers had drugged him and jeopardized his career, well, she was an expert in being betrayed by your family. It would be hard to forgive them for something so thoughtless, not to mention handle their upcoming visit, but they’d figure it out. If he thought this would make it harder for her to do the task Osion had set for her, he was right, but she would manage. 

Iroh grimached, then nodded. “Sunday wasn’t the first time I’ve had missing time,” he said. “I just didn’t remember.”

Asami gripped her own cup, but didn’t say anything. So she’d been right. “During the tour?”

“Yes.”

That was wrong though. How would he not have noticed a few missing hours? He’d been on a ship full of people, and had a tight schedule besides. Surely someone would have told him if he’d been acting odd or had wound up somewhere unexpected in the strange event he hadn’t noticed himself. 

“You didn’t know?” Asami asked, truly baffled. 

Iroh shook his head. “I did. I just didn’t put it together, see the pattern. I thought it was something else.”

“What else?”

He looked down, moved his hands from the teacup, and pressed them into the table. Then he met her eyes. He searched her face, his expression almost panicked now. “What if… Asami, can I ask you a favor?” 

“Of course,” she said. Anything to get him to stop looking at her like he was drowning. Spirits, what the hell had happened?

“Let me say everything, from start to finish,” Iroh said quickly. “I think I need… please, I just want to get through it. Then we can… discuss the implications, I guess. And you can say anything that you feel you need to say to me. Is that all right?”

She was starting to get scared now. “Yes.”

Iroh looked down at his untouched tea again, then started to speak. “Back on the tour, the first night in Ba Sing Se, we came in at night. Kazai and Matsu wanted to go out on the town before the official stuff started. No entourage, just us brothers spending time together and pretending to be normal so we could see a bit of the city.” He laughed a little, a bitter sound. “They actually said it was for me. A belated birthday celebration, since we hadn’t done anything.

“To my surprise, Prince Wu met us at the train. I’m not sure how he got invited, but it must have been pre-planned. Ba Sing Se is so huge and he was dressed like we were. At that point I declared my intention to go back to the ship. Wu and I don’t agree on much, and what constitutes a good time is probably the least of it, but I had no interest in the kind of evening I knew he’d enjoy. Kazai, Matsu, and I argued, but eventually I gave in. I promised them one drink. I ordered one drink. I drank one drink. And after that, I remember very little. All of this I already knew.”

“You already knew you forgot a whole night out?” Asami asked, surprised. “Why didn’t you tell me? If not at then, at least on Sunday.”

Iroh gave her a sad smile. “Pride at first, I suppose. I was convinced I’d only had too much to drink, or rather, very little to drink that affected me far too much. Not the kind of thing one is excited to tell their wife. Then later, like I said, I just didn’t put it together. It had been weeks. I missed the connection.”

Asami frowned at him. Iroh hardly drank at all, let alone enough to black out. The whiskey he’d had at Mako’s was the first thing she’d seen him touch in more than a year. It should have been obvious to him that something was wrong. “You really thought it was alcohol?”

Iroh nodded. “It seems ridiculous now, but the next morning it just felt like a hangover. Headache, nausea, exhaustion. And I had been out drinking after all. It was the most logical explanation. Matsu assured me that I hadn’t embarrassed myself too badly, and other things quickly became important enough that I didn’t think too hard about it. I’ll get to that. Please, let me finish.”

“I’m sorry. Go ahead.” Asami had a million questions, but she’d promised to let him talk and already felt a little badly about having interrupted. Instead, she finally took a sip of her tea. It was lukewarm and bitter, as if Iroh had been distracted when he made it. 

“I talked to Matsu last night and made him tell me the whole story. Threatened him, begged him, however you want to see it. And I think he did. Mat’s about as good a liar as I am if you can corner him.” Iroh took a deep breath, then went on. “It seems that, at some point, at Kazai’s urging, Wu laced my one drink with a quantity of Si-Wong. Matsu claims he wasn’t the instigator, but also that he didn’t object. I’d been tense, he said, and not enjoying myself. The idea was to loosen me up and make me more willing to come along for a fun evening out. According to Mat, Wu gave me double his usual dose because I’m bigger. But Wu is a regular user, and his estimation of how much to give me was off considerably.”

Asami closed her eyes, too angry to speak. There you had it. Prince Wu, Kazai, and Matsu, conspiring against poor Iroh in the name of a fucking party when all he’d come on that trip to do was help them. She briefly wondered if there was a way to use her position at RCCC to lace all their drinks with something toxic, or at least laxatives, during their visit, then shoved the thought aside. That might feel good, but it wouldn’t help. And at the end of the day, it was his family. She’d be there to support him, but Iroh needed to manage that relationship, not her.

The worst part was, she actually liked Iroh’s brothers, or had. Asami liked all his family. Matsu, and especially Kazai, could be a little on the boisterous, self-centered side, but they were good people. Iroh loved them, and she knew they loved him back. What had made them think this was okay, or even worse, something to Iroh’s benefit, was beyond her. At the very least it was astonishingly ignorant of both his personality and position. Then again, when her father had joined the Equalists, he’d claimed he was doing it for her, too. People can do crazy, terrible things in the name of love.

Iroh took another slow, deep breath, like he did when he was trying to force himself to relax, then continued. “I don’t know if I overdosed or not. I’m not sure there is a way to tell now, but it likely doesn’t matter. According to Matsu I got very talkative about what seemed to him random topics, then confused and uncoordinated. I tried to firebend, seemingly for no reason. Then I went almost completely quiet and mostly stayed that way.”

Iroh rested his elbows on the table and pushed his hair back off his forehead. His voice dropped a little. “Mat said that at some point between bars we were approached by a woman. She worked at an establishment down the road, a place that Prince Wu was apparently well familiar with. From what I understand, it’s billed as a gentlemen's club, but for enough money one can buy other services there. From women.”

Asami said nothing. Her mind had started to go oddly blank. It was a trick she’d learned a few years ago in order to not dwell on painful thoughts. Some thoughts led only to hurtful, unhelpful places. Best to block them out, cover them up. Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think.

“According to Matsu,” Iroh said, “he tried to get Wu and Kazai to take me back to the ship at this point, but was overruled. So we went with the woman. I went. I don’t remember any of this, just flashes of light and color, but I went all the same.” He looked down at his tea again, seemingly unable to meet her eye. “Everyone was drinking, and Matsu swears he doesn’t remember all of the details, but at some point some of the women, the dancers, came to our table. Different… services… were available. Kazai handed one of them a fistful of cash and told her to help me ‘relax.’” His voice cracked a little. “Said it was my birthday. Mat said I followed her into one of the rooms in the back, where I stayed for some amount of time, he doesn’t know how long. A half hour, maybe less.”

The blank feeling spread. Asami’s whole head was filled with a gentle buzzing now. Iroh’s voice sounded far away, like a radio heard through a wall.

“Kaz and Wu went, too, but Matsu says he stayed because he was worried about how out of it I was. When I was delivered back to the table, he said he’d had enough and dragged me back to the ship. Apparently I didn’t do much more than mumble and let myself be led. Kaz and Wu stayed out. The next morning I saw Kazai say goodbye to a girl at the docks. I don’t know if she was one of the women from the club or not. That’s why I was distracted. When I confronted him about it he didn’t deny what it was. Instead… instead he said that he’d tell Inae when I told you. I… I had no idea what he was talking about. I ignored him, figured he was just pissed at me. I was so angry already, I didn’t think. There was so much going on, with Wu talking about joining the trip, too, and I was already thinking of leaving because of your letters. It wouldn’t have changed anything if I’d asked him what he meant, but at least… I don’t know. I may never know for sure.”

Asami pushed her tea away, mostly undrunk. Everything seemed distant and slow. It was like she was watching a mover of herself now, the reel run at half speed. She stood and pushed in her chair. “I’m going to work,” she heard herself say.

“You’re leaving,” Iroh whispered into his cup. "You don't even want to talk about it?"

Asami floated into the kitchen and found her purse. The buzzing in her head was so loud now she could hardly think. 

_Good. Don’t think. Don’t think. Don’t think about that room._

“I’m going to work,” she said again. Her hand closed around the doorknob. 

_Don’t think don’t think don’t think don’t think oh spirits don’t think._


	30. MAKO

Mako looked down and straightened his uniform, then knocked on the door to Chief Beifong’s office.

“Yes?” 

He pushed open the door. “You wanted to see me, Chief?”

Chief Beifong didn’t look up from whatever she was reading. “Sit.”

Mako closed the door behind him, pulled out a chair, and sat. He’d never said as much, but over the nearly four years he’d been on the force Lin Beifong had grown from someone who scared the hell out of him into the person he probably respected most in the world. She still scared the hell out of him, that hadn’t changed, and he figured anyone who _wasn’t_ scared of her was plain stupid. He wasn’t even entirely sure that he liked her. But of everyone he knew, Chief Beifong was the most likely to be on the level. She didn’t joke. She didn’t beat around the bush. She didn’t make you guess or leave you hanging. If the chief said something, she meant exactly what she said, no more, no less. Mako knew a lot of people found her frank, taciturn style off-putting, but he admired it. It was hard to tell the truth all the time. He would know.

So, Mako sat, knowing that the chief had called for him, he had come, and there was nothing left to do until she was ready to tell him why and what it meant. He wasn’t nervous. It simply was.

Another minute or two passed, the only sound their breathing and the quiet rustle as Chief Beifong turned a page. Finally, she looked up. 

“I have an assignment for you,” she said, with no preamble. “It is going to require that you travel, and leave as soon as possible. Preferably today. I don’t know how long you will be gone, but it could be as much as two weeks. Is this a problem for you personally?”

“No.” Mako had no real plans, and even if he had he’d probably have canceled. Besides the few weeks he’d been assigned to Korra’s security in Zaofu, he’d never had an out of town case. They were rare, and generally went to more seasoned detectives. This was the kind of opportunity that, if it went well, might make the difference between detective and senior detective, and he wasn't about to pass that up.

The chief gave him a curt nod. “That’s what I’d hoped.” She slid the papers she’d been reading across her desk and Mako took them. He flipped back to the first page, which was mostly taken up with the image of a man. He seemed to be in his early 30s, with light skin, strong features, and green eyes so dark they were almost black. His thick brown hair was swept back into a ponytail, and his expression was hard and defiant. It also looked like he’d recently taken a beating, and a bad one at that. Half his face was a mess of bruises, and his left eyebrow had been split. There weren’t too many kinds of people who had the stuffing knocked out of them and their photo taken before they’d even seen a healer. 

“This is Zaheer,” Chief Beifong said. Mako looked up. Apparently he was to read the file later. “The leader, or at least former leader, of an organization called the Order of the Red Lotus.”

Mako said nothing. He’d never heard of either the man or that organization. There was an Order of the White Lotus, of course. Korra had grown up with them, a bunch of stuffy old men and women with a lot to say about the importance of the role of the Avatar and very little about the importance of her as a person. Mako respected what they did, but had never liked them much. He'd always gotten the feeling that, if forced to choose between the Avatar cycle and Korra herself, they'd have each made different decisions.

“Everything you need to know about him is in the paperwork,” Chief Beifong continued. “The operative point is that this man Zaheer escaped from a private prison to the north of Zaofu approximately three and a half years ago.”

“Wait, years?” Mako asked before he could help himself. She wanted him to find someone who had been missing for _years?_

The chief’s green eyes narrowed. “Yes, Detective, years. Now, if you are done interrupting.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“As I was saying, as far as we know he escaped in July of ‘72. He’s not been seen or heard from until yesterday, or what was late Sunday night Fire Nation time. He, and an unknown number of associates, broke into a similar private prison on Shuhon Island, freeing the prison’s single occupant, a waterbender named Ming-Hua with whom he had previously worked. At least some of those associates were airbenders. They have since disappeared again.”

Mako bit his tongue to keep himself from speaking. He had so many questions. Airbenders? There were no Fire Nation airbenders, Korra and Tenzin had looked for ages, and all the rest were either training at one of the Air Temples or at least being monitored. And was he now expected to find two fugitives, in less than two weeks, last seen in a remote part of the Fire Nation, one of whom had successfully evaded capture almost as long as he’d been a cop? He’d wanted a stretch assignment, but this was looking impossible.

“You will go to Zaofu,” said Chief Beifong. Mako started. Zaofu? But they’d been seen in the Fire Nation less than two days ago. 

She must have seen the surprised expression on his face. “You will go to Zaofu, Mako. You’re a detective, not a bounty hunter. We have the White Lotus, the Fire Nation, and the United Forces all working on recapturing Zaheer, Ming-Hua, and anyone who helped them. What we need, what I need, is to know how and, more importantly, why Zaheer escaped in the first place. He was in that prison for 14 years, completely isolated except for his captors. To my knowledge, no one has ever broken out of a facility such as his. He’s not a bender. Then to pull that off and successfully disappear, only to resurface years later? And why free Ming-Hua? Something has changed, Detective. I need to know what. And for whatever reason, the Earth Kingdom is keeping this close. Don’t expect their help, at least officially.”

Mako nodded. He still had questions, but at least his assignment was clear. “I understand. I’ll leave tonight.”

“Good,” said the chief. “Everything you need to know is in your briefing. At this point we don’t know what is important and what isn’t, so call back with anything new you learn, anything at all, as soon as you learn it.”

“Yes, Chief.” She said nothing further, which he interpreted as his being dismissed. He had his hand on the door when she said, “And Mako?”

Mako paused. She hardly ever used his name. “Yes?”

“Don’t get too close to this case. I need a clear head. You’re not my best detective, but you’re the best one I can spare, and I’m trusting you to be able to handle this. Don’t make me regret it.”

“I won’t,” he said quickly. Why would he be close to this case? He’d never heard of Zaheer, his prison break, or even the Red Lotus until she’d briefed him. “I swear.”

“Good. Check in when you get to Zaofu. And pack warmly. Even a firebender will get cold in the mountains this time of year.”

Mako gave her a swift nod, then left, the briefing tucked under his arm. He made sure that the picture, the one of Zaheer and his angry eyes, faced inwards towards his side so that only blank paper was visible. It was the little details that tripped you up, and it never hurt to be careful. Even here.


	31. IROH

“I’m sorry, General,” Yu Tian said, with all the polish and finality of a veteran butler. Asami’s assistant at Future Industries was the kind of polite yet ruthless gatekeeper that only private industry could produce, and stubbornly refused to use Iroh’s name despite their having known one another for years, or grant him any special favors. “Ms. Sato is tied up. I can still take a message though.”

Iroh kicked the side of the telephone booth with his boot. It made a dull, rattling thunk. “No. Just tell her I called again.” 

“Very well, sir.” Iroh hung up and stepped out of the booth back into the frosty air. This close to the water it was damp as well as cold, and most of Yue Bay was still shrouded in a late morning fog. He buttoned up the collar of his coat as far as it would go, trying to save every ounce of energy for the task ahead rather than firebend to stay warm. It had been years since Iroh had let himself be cold though, and the feeling was distinctly unpleasant. Was this how normal people felt in winter? No wonder Asami was always balled up in blankets.

Behind him the ferry horn sounded its departure warning. Just as well that Asami hadn’t picked up, Iroh tried to tell himself. He shoved his hands deep in his pockets and trotted to the end of the dock. His breath puffed out in a white cloud as he boarded the little ship. Almost as soon as he stepped on he heard the wet thump drag of the dock line behind him as it was pulled in. Apparently he’d just made it. 

Unsurprisingly, Iroh was one of only two passengers on board. It wasn’t a busy route at the best of times, and a cold, mid-week morning in December even less so. He decided to stay outside despite the weather; the fresh air would help with his seasickness, and the bitter cold was a welcome distraction from other things he might think about instead. 

As he watched the rolling fog, Iroh was reminded of the day he’d first fought the Equalists. It hadn’t been cold then, but the poor visibility had been one reason the United Forces ships hadn’t spotted the naval mines that had littered the bay. The resulting disaster had very nearly cost Iroh his life, and had cost the lives of dozens of others. It had also been how he’d first met Asami, though they hadn’t gotten to know one another until many months later. How many things might have been different if there hadn’t been any fog that day? It was impossible to say.

The main complex at Air Temple Island sat at the top of the winding path that led up from the beach. It was a lot of steps, but at least by the time Iroh got to the top he was a bit warmer. He’d been half convinced he’d find the place deserted, everyone having decided that any work or practice would be indoors today, but as he crested the hill he saw that the complex was as bustling as ever. A handful of airbenders were training on the large octagonal bending deck to his right, one leading five or six others through a series of airforms. Two brightly colored spirits danced in the wind around them, apparently unseen by the trainees—Iroh’s ability to occasionally see wild spirits was relatively rare, even among airbenders. A red and yellow robed acolyte was scrubbing icy moss off the fountain, and in the distance he could hear the thwaps and shouts of what sounded like hand-to-hand or perhaps staff combat training. A child laughed, followed by two others. In spite of everything, it all brought a smile to Iroh’s face. There were some parts of growing up in a bustling palace that he genuinely missed. 

He found Tenzin at the very top of the tower. By now the novelty of stairs had worn off, and Iroh was sweating. The older man was hunched over his desk, facing the window, reading something from an enormous and very old-looking book. This high up it was considerably brighter, and the sun glinted off the airbender’s perfectly shaved head. The view out the window was a sea of clouds.

“One moment,” he said, not looking up. Iroh used the extra time to catch his breath a little. Perhaps he should start taking the stairs up to the apartment? Tenzin carefully marked his place, then turned around in his chair. His thick eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Iroh? You’re about the last person I expected. Is everything all right?”

Iroh pressed his palm into his face and breathed in, suddenly overcome. Something about that simple question, asked with sincerity, from someone who cared. It was the last crack.

“No,” he said through his fingers. His voice came out small and hoarse; the voice of a scared child up far past his bedtime. “Nothing is all right.”

***

Iroh breathed in. He held his breath for a count of ten, then breathed out. 

“Good,” Tenzin said. “Let your mind and your spirit be free.”

Iroh breathed in again, letting the freezing air fill him slowly from the base of his lungs to the back of his mouth. They’d retreated to a small meditation hut on the far west side of the complex. He sat cross-legged on the cold concrete, barefoot, his coat once again unbuttoned at the throat. Iroh held his breath for another count, then let it out, just as slowly, just as controlled. In. Out. In. Out.

“You are empty, Iroh.” Tenzin’s voice was deep and measured, soothing. He sat opposite Iroh in nothing but his robes, palms up, his eyes already closed. “You are not a man, but a vessel waiting to be filled with the element of air. Then the vessel itself will become air. Let go of your earthly tether. Your spirit is nothing but a leaf in the wind.”

 _Let go,_ Iroh thought. _Become air._ He’d heard that before. He’d done it, too, at least that once. It had probably saved his life. He focused, using the same breathing and concentration that he did to prepare for lightning bending. It was incredibly hard, especially worked up the way he was, but his years of training and discipline were not for nothing. Slowly Iroh felt his fraught emotions draining away, replaced with a sense of peace. His heart rate slowed. He no longer felt cold, or even precisely solid. He didn’t remember closing his eyes.

“Good,” said Tenzin again. “Now, I want you to think of a sky. A night sky above a tall city wall. Can you do that?”

“Hmm.” Iroh was only half listening now, the other half having turned completely inward. The vacant place in his mind slowly filled with the image of an enormous rampart. It soared up into the sky where it faded into a blackness filled with glittering stars. 

“Now, imagine that behind this wall is something you need. Something very important to you. You have to get to it. What do you do?”

“Take the bricks out,” Iroh mumbled. Tenzin had said to go with the first thing he thought of. What better way in than through?

“Go take the bricks out then,” said Tenzin. Iroh walked up to the wall. Up close it looked pitted and rough, some kind of pale sandstone, not unlike the cliffs and caves that lined the coast of the Southwest Earth Kingdom. The mortar between the individual blocks had crumbled, leaving plenty of handholds. He reached out a hand and grasped the end of one of the bricks, then pulled. It slid easily out of the wall and fell to the ground. Iroh repeated the gesture, pulling brick after brick out of the huge city wall until he’d created a large hole. Oddly, he couldn’t seem to see into it yet.

“Okay,” he murmured.

“Now, imagine the thing you want, Iroh. It’s right there, right on the other side of that wall. Step through and find it.”

Iroh stepped through the hole he’d created. What had previously only been darkness resolved into a dark and crowded room. It was completely silent. As he looked, he realized that though it was packed, it was impossible to pick out individual people. Everyone seemed oddly blurred. Their features shifted as they moved, as if they weren’t people at all but composites. Every few seconds a bright white light flashed, freezing everyone momentarily in stark blue and white contrast. 

“What do you see, Iroh?” 

“Blue room. Lots of people, but they’re wrong. Not real people.”

“Where are you?”

Iroh looked around and realized he was now sitting at a table. More shifting people shapes surrounded him, seated and standing. One of them held out a flickering hand.

“At a table. Someone wants me to follow.”

“Follow them.” Iroh got up and walked after the shifting, melting person as the other people-shapes faded into the gloom. A large black door loomed against the back wall. It must have been eight feet high or more, and skewed, its geometry all wrong. As he approached, the rest of the room seemed to fade. Soon the door was all he could see.

“Where do you go?” Tenzin asked.

“Big door. It’s all wrong.”

“Open the door, Iroh.”

The person who had been leading him melted through the door without opening it, leaving Iroh standing alone. He reached for the handle, his own pale arm flashing blue and white and blue again in the revolving lights. He turned it and pushed open the door.

Behind it was nothing but blackness shot with silver sparkles. At first Iroh thought it had opened onto the night sky, the same dark, star-strewn sky he had seen above the city walls. Then the light flashed and he realized it wasn’t space at all, but shimmering silver fabric. He reached out to touch it. The light flashed behind him and nothing was there. It was space once again, filled with infinite constellations. Flash. Rippling, glittering cloth. Flash. A night sky shot with stars. 

“What do you see in the room, Iroh?” Tenzin asked. 

Flash. He reached out to clutch at the fabric and came away empty. Flash. 

“Tenzin. It’s beautiful.”

***

Iroh sipped his tea. He was also firebending again. Twenty minutes of sitting still in the cold had chilled him to the core despite his coat. 

The main house was blessedly quiet, and they seemed to have the place to themselves. Tenzin sat across from him, his arms folded across the table. His gray eyes were grave. “I’m sorry, Iroh,” he said. “I’m afraid I’ve done all that I can. I’m not even sure you needed my help. You’ve always been accomplished at meditation. I wish most of my students were as good as you are.”

“Thank you.” Iroh shrugged a little. “I can’t claim anything though. It’s always come easily to me.”

“Then you’re very lucky.” Through the window, Iroh could see the two spirits from earlier twirling about in the air. They looked something like vulture wasps, but pink and fuzzy. As far as he knew, Korra and Tenzin’s daughter Jinora were the only other people who could see spirits in the same way he could. Iroh realized with a start that he’d never told Tenzin about the talent. In fact, he’d never told anybody, not since childhood when no one had believed him. Asami had been the first.

“I wish I could do more, Iroh,” Tenzin said. He took a sip of his own tea.

Iroh fiddled with his cup. “It was just an idea.”

“A good idea,” said Tenzin sharply. “Don’t discount that. And you’ve at least learned something, even if it wasn’t the answer you sought.” 

After a lot of thought, Iroh had filled the other man in on everything that had happened. It was a risk considering the penalty for Si-Wong use, and heart-wrenching to talk about his betrayal of Asami, but he figured if he couldn’t trust the old airbender he couldn’t trust anyone. He was the closest thing to family that Iroh had in the United Republic. Then again, he used to think he could trust his brothers, too. In the end he supposed he was simply out of ideas.

“Yes,” Iroh said slowly. He was still piecing things together. “But I think I have more questions than answers now. All I know is that whatever happened in Ba Sing Se and what happened to me this weekend are related. Yet on the face of it, the only things in common are myself and some kind of black and silver fabric, or maybe something to do with stars. I don’t know what it means, or why.” 

“But you do know there is a connection,” Tenzin said. “It is little enough, but it’s a lead to follow.”

Iroh rubbed his face, frustrated. “I have no idea what’s happening to me, but it feels like everything I love is hanging by a thread. My relationship with my family. My career. My freedom. My marriage.” He looked up at Tenzin’s serious face. “What do I do? Asami… you should have seen her face, Tenz. It was like she didn’t even know me.”

“If she believed you unfaithful, maybe she felt like she didn’t?”

“How do I prove to her that I wasn’t? I’d never… she knows…” Iroh trailed off. What did Asami really know? And truthfully, what did he? A few days ago he’d have counted himself among the happiest of men. Sure, every relationship had its ups and downs, but he loved Asami deeply, he wanted her, and most of all he’d made her a promise. Iroh would never pursue another woman. But could he say for sure that he wouldn’t let it happen if he was drinking and high and she’d been paid to? He didn’t know. 

Tenzin sighed. “I’ve been married a long time, Iroh. Would you like some advice?”

Iroh nodded. At this point he’d take anything.

“Don’t try to get her to be what you need,” he said. “Be what she needs instead.”

***

“Thanks, Yu Tian,” Iroh said. _Tell her I love her._ “No, no message.” He hung up the receiver, hoisted his old duffel bag, and pushed open the door of the booth. The square in front of Central City Station was nearly deserted except for its usual smattering of permanent loiterers and, as always, the enormous statue of Iroh’s grandfather. Firelord Zuko appeared to be about Iroh’s own age, and, in his opinion, looked quite a bit like I-mom. He was dressed in his royal armor in a way Iroh had never seen him in life, his long hair in an old-style topknot, his right fist ablaze. At the Firelord’s feet sat a few dozen pigeon rats. Iroh’s brisk steps set them to fluttering and squeaking before they quickly resettled behind him. Future Industries, in partnership with the RCCC, had done a lot to revitalize Republic City’s main train station over the last few years, but some things never changed. In Iroh’s experience large gatherings of pigeon rats on statues were one of them. He thought his grandfather would be amused.

Once inside Iroh re-checked his ticket, then made his way to platform four. By the time he arrived the big red steam engine was already puffing away, and passengers had begun to board. He walked to the very front of the train and, after a quick ticket check, was led down a narrow carpeted hallway to a door marked with a large number three. 

“Here you are, sir,” said the maroon-suited conductor. “I’m Toan, your first class steward.” He gestured back the way they had come. “The dining room and facilities are down the hall. If you need anything in particular, just ask. I will be by periodically, or you can ring the bell in your cabin.” The man handed Iroh a large brass key, also stamped with a number three. 

Iroh put down his duffel bag. He dug in his pocket, pulled out a couple of bills, and pressed them into his hand with a faint smile. “Thank you. I’m sure I’ll have everything I need.” Considering what he’d paid for a first class sleeper cabin, he’d better. Iroh wasn’t usually one for luxury, but he wanted both privacy and sleep and was willing to pay handsomely for it.

He gripped the key as Toan turned away. _Be what she needs,_ Tenzin had said. He’d tried to reach Asami half a dozen times today, but each time she’d been busy. Finally, Iroh had realized what she might need from him right now more than anything was, simply, not him at all. His shoulders sagged a little as he fit the key in the lock. It wasn't what he wanted but, if that’s what it took, he may as well use the time well.

“United Republic Eastern Intercontinental No. 8 departing from platform four,” called a voice over the loudspeaker. “Republic City Central City Station - East Republic City - Poharan - Barru - Fong - Zaofu - Great Divide - Full Moon Bay - West Ba Sing Se - Ba Sing Se Middle Ring Station.” The voice echoed slightly in the cavernous building. “All aboard!”


	32. ASAMI

Asami didn’t have nightmares often, but when she did they were usually the same. She would be herself, exactly as she was when she’d fallen asleep. She would wake up and try to move, but find that she couldn’t. All of her limbs were too heavy; nothing in her body responded to her commands. Sometimes she couldn’t get up at all. Other times she managed it, only to jerkily drag herself through the house, stumbling and falling all over. At the same time, a creeping sense of dread would wash over her. There was something in the house. Something dark and malevolent that wished her ill. Asami had had this dream so often that by this point she usually recognized it for what it was. If she could only wake up, everything would be okay, the thing in the house wouldn’t get her. She’d try everything; she’d pinch herself, throw herself against the wall, scream and shout for Iroh to help her. Sometimes she’d find him asleep as well, soft and unresponsive, and she’d shake him and shake him, yelling at him to get up, to wake up, they had to wake up. Then she would wake, only to realize minutes later that she hadn’t at all. The dream would repeat, sometimes as many as six or seven times, before she would actually, finally open her eyes, gasping and sweating and digging her nails into her palms to be sure it was real. 

Today felt like that dream.

Asami shifted into fourth, willing herself to keep moving. Perhaps if she drove fast enough, hard enough, she’d finally be able to wake up. She pushed herself to focus on nothing besides what was right in front of her. The speed and position of the other vehicles as she dodged in and out of the sparse traffic. The blare of a horn as she cut someone off again to swing around a red sato that had been going a fraction too slowly for her taste. The biting cold of the leather seat against her thin black pants. The smooth feel of the shifter beneath her hand. 

But no matter how she tried, other thoughts kept creeping in. Other images. Over and over and over. A half-lit room. Two bodies writhing together on a bed against the far wall, the woman on top, her lips devouring the pale skin beneath her. The man running his strong hands up her sides and over her full breasts, slowly, as if savoring the unfamiliar feel of her. 

Asami stamped on the clutch and brought the sato into fifth, then pressed on the gas. She was well and truly speeding now, not just pushing her luck, but she didn’t care. It was like a game. How many satos could she pass in a minute? How fast could she go before she made a mistake? She knew it was stupid and reckless to drive like this off the track, but she needed it, she needed the distraction more than she needed to be careful. Yet before long she was back in the room again. The woman’s straight brown hair hung across her face, rendering her unrecognizable, but it was painfully obvious that she was everything Asami wasn’t: dark, voluptuous, new, exciting. Young, yet well-trained in the art of pleasing a partner. In a lot of ways she resembled Bao Hui; in others, she looked like Korra. Either way, the man stretched out beneath her was perfectly clear, every familiar line of his naked body standing out in sharp relief. His face was screwed up in concentration, each muscle taut as a bowstring, waiting, begging for release.

A deep part of her knew that none of it had been Iroh’s fault. Not only that, but the more she played back what he’d said, the closer and closer it sounded to rape. At the very least he was a victim, just as much or more than she was, and not a willing perpetrator. Yet every time Asami let her attention drift all she could see was the man she loved in another woman’s arms. And she would fill with rage at the sight because rage was the only thing strong enough to cover the hurt. It was so much easier, so much better to be angry than to feel that old familiar pain. Yet when Asami would focus again she was even more furious with herself for being so angry at Iroh, furious and ashamed. How could she possibly be upset about something that wasn’t his fault, and so focused on herself when he was the one who’d been wronged?

And what if it had been the other way around? If someone Asami had loved and trusted had drugged her drink in the name of a good time and then paid some stranger to fuck her in the back room of some nameless club? Iroh would have run all the way to Ba Sing Se just to burn the place to the ground with his own bare hands, then choked whoever was behind it to within an inch of their life, maybe less. But only after he’d wrapped her in his arms and told her over and over that it was okay, that he was here for her, as many times as she needed to hear it to feel safe. He would never in a million years have blamed her, let alone been angry with her. Asami knew that. So why did this feel so different? Was it just because he was a guy, and some part of her assumed that he had to have wanted it? The whole thing made her feel selfish and sexist and low. But telling herself to be rational did nothing to take the hurt away, either.

Asami swung into the parking lot in front of Future Industries at double her normal speed. She felt the back tires slide a little on the damp pavement but she held it together, pulling the sato into a controlled slide that landed her more or less facing the parking space reserved for the president. She powered forward and then slammed on the brake, coming to a complete stop just inches from the sidewalk. Asami almost smiled at that; a perfect ten for precision at speed. Then she was back inside the dark room, watching helplessly as the story repeated itself once again. She practically ran to the door of the building, eager to throw herself into something, anything that would take her mind off the endless cycle. 

She got her wish.

Almost as soon as she arrived in her office on the top floor her Head of Quality Assurance informed her that the inspection of all of the light pedestrian bridges had been completed and the results were in. She spent the entire morning in an emergency meeting, and it hadn’t been good news. Nearly 20% of the bridges made in the last six months had the same materials defect. It was a miracle that there had only been one collapse. But replacing the bridges would not only cost Future Industries dearly—in yuans as well as stock value—it would also mean weeks of massive traffic disruptions. Any goodwill she may have had with President Osion would evaporate in an instant, and there hadn’t been much to begin with. 

“Asami, are you even listening?” Bo Huin asked. The CFO had been going through an outline of where cuts could be made to keep the quarterly budget flat. Asami started. She’d been picturing the dark room again, Iroh’s lips trailing up a flat stomach in search of something softer. 

“Yes, of course,” she said. “I’m just a little tired. Keep going.”

That meeting had bled directly into one with Director Tan, Republic City’s head of Ways and Transit. He’d been irate at the prospect of having to close any of the pedestrian bridges for repairs, and swore that anyone calling his department to complain would know exactly who to blame. Already stressed, Asami snapped, accusing him of caring more about public opinion than about public safety. She immediately regretted it. Tan had stormed out, shaking to the ends of his bushy white mustache, swearing and muttering under his breath that he was taking this straight to the president. Asami had no choice but to put everyone in damage control mode, with instructions to loop in everyone from contracts to comms, as well as Ren and the rest of her department at RCCC. Then she left, trying to ignore the baffled, disappointed stares of her senior staff.

“Are you feeling all right, Ms. Sato?” Yu Tian said as she approached the door of her office. His desk was just opposite, allowing him to keep her safe from any petitioners or angry clients who threatened to interrupt her day. “I noticed that you didn’t eat lunch.”

 _That makes one of us._ She’d been startled to see it was nearly five o’clock. Asami gave him a tired smile. “It’s been a long day. I think I’ll head out early though. Then I can get something on the way home.” She didn’t think she had the energy to do much more here, let alone do it well, and if her outburst was any indication it wasn’t worth it to push her luck.

Yu Tian looked down at a stack of notes on his desk. “I’ve pulled all the bridge production logs like you asked. They’re on your desk by date order.”

“Thank you.” That could wait until tomorrow.

“Oh, and your husband called,” Yu Tian said. “He called seven times, actually.”

Asami looked up. “Seven? And you’re just telling me this?”

Yu Tian frowned a little. “You said no calls while you are in meetings, and you’ve been in meetings all day. Was that wrong?”

She clenched her fists a little. In many ways, Yu Tian was the ideal assistant. He was as inflexible as a mecha tank, which meant that he always did exactly what was asked of him and could never be wheedled or cajoled by others into letting them bother Asami when she didn’t want it. This was, to a small degree, Iroh’s own fault. Only a month after Yu Tian was hired, Iroh had successfully bribed him to knock off a little early so that he could surprise her in her office. Apparently the resulting sex had been loud enough that the episode hadn’t gone entirely unnoticed, and while everyone at Future Industries had seemed to know better than to say anything to Asami herself, she understood that Yu Tian had taken his role in the escapade quite hard. Sometimes she thought he’d overcorrected.

“No, Yu Tian. Thank you. What was the message?”

“No message, ma’am. I asked every time, but he only said to tell you he called.” He still had a faint crease between his eyes, as if he suspected that she wasn’t being entirely truthful about being okay. “Should I try and get him back for you now?”

“No, thanks, I’ll telephone from my office. Hold any other calls until I say so, okay?”

Yu Tian nodded. “Of course.”

Asami made her way into her office, then slumped against the door as it shut behind her. It felt like all day she’d been holding everything together through sheer force of will. Yet now wasn’t the time to let it all catch up with her. She didn’t know what she should say to Iroh, but if he needed to talk then she needed to listen, even if it was painful. In retrospect, walking out this morning had been almost callous, an act of self-preservation as selfish as it was cruel. They would have more time tonight, but she couldn’t let him think for a moment longer that she was ignoring him. 

She collapsed into the seat behind her desk, no longer her father’s big leather monstrosity but a sleek padded lavender office chair. The whole room had been redone about two years ago, the former heavy furnishings replaced with a more modern look that was slim and pretty, yet comfortable. She reached for the telephone and dialed Iroh’s office line at RCCC. After three rings, Lt. Iameh answered. 

“General Iroh’s office,” she said.

“Iameh, it’s Asami. Did Iroh leave yet?”

A pause. “I’m not sure. He’s not with you?”

Asami didn’t understand that. Why would he be with her? “No, I’m at Future Industries today. I thought he might still be in the office, but I’ll try home instead.”

“Asami, Iroh didn’t come in today. He called me a few hours ago to say he was going to be away unexpectedly. He asked me to extend his leave and keep his schedule clear as long as I could. It wasn’t hard, as he was supposed to be gone anyway. I’m just holding the time.” Another long pause. “Is everything all right?”

Suddenly she felt cold all over. And why did people keep asking her that? No, nothing was all right, nothing at all. “I’ll try him at home, Iameh. Thanks.” She clicked off, not waiting for a response, and quickly dialed their home telephone. It rang twelve times before she finally hung up.

***

Asami bolted off the elevator and down the hallway to the front door. The fingers holding her keys were shaking, but she somehow managed to get the door open anyway. As soon as she entered she saw the note. It was in the same place they always left notes to one another, folded and pinned underneath her teacup on the kitchen counter. Asami took three giant steps and snatched it up, not even bothering to close the door behind her.

It was more like a letter than a note, the sheet folded in three and marked with a neat “A” on the front. Her heart caught in her throat as she saw nearly a full page of Iroh’s tidy printing. 

_Asami-_

_I wish we could have talked. I don’t know where to start. This is my fourth draft of this letter, and I can’t find a better opening besides stating the situation: I’ve left for Ba Sing Se, and I’m not sure when I’ll be back._

_You deserve answers, we both do, and I can’t get them in the U.R. If Ba Sing Se is where everything started to go wrong, perhaps I can learn something there that will help put it right._

_I also think this will be the easiest way to have the time apart that we need right now. We can work out other arrangements when I am back in town._

_There is so much that I want to say. I want to say that nothing happened in that club, and that if it did it was without my consent. I want to say that I’m not a danger, to you or to anyone else. I want to say that it’s all a coincidence, and that what happened on the tour, what happened this weekend, and the things President Osion briefed us on are not related (not putting details in writing). But I’ll never lie to you. I don’t know, Asami. I don’t know._

_I have no right to ask anything of you, but not broadcasting my whereabouts might be helpful. I have told Tenzin everything, and will be in touch with him occasionally._

_Please carry a weapon at all times. Electric or fire if possible. If you see me and I am not myself, don’t hesitate._

_I love you more than anything. I hope one day you can believe that again._

_-Iroh._

Asami crumpled the letter and sagged to the floor. 

***

“Hello?"

"Tenzin?”

“No, weirdo, it’s Korra. Since when do I sound anything like Tenzin? Besides, it’s past the old man’s bed time.”

“Oh,” Asami said. The voice hadn’t really registered. “Hi, Korra. Is Tenzin there?”

“I just said he—Asami, are you drunk?”

Asami looked at the bottle of wine on the floor next to her. It was nearly empty. The world had taken on a dull, fuzzy feeling. “Trying,” she said. 

“Why are you drunk-dialing Tenzin at eleven at night?”

“Iroh told him everything. Thought he might know where”—a sob escaped her lips—“where I could find…”

“Asami? What’s going on?”

“Iroh left, Kor.” She was crying harder now, and she hated crying, but there was something about finally saying it, saying it out loud, and now she couldn’t stop. “Iroh left me.”


	33. MAKO

There were a lot of things that Mako knew he was better at than his little brother. He had a better work ethic and more discipline, and had been able to turn those traits into an advantage both in the triad and in the pro-bending arena. He was more observant and, though he’d never say it, had always believed himself slightly smarter. He was better with practical, everyday things: saving money, paying rent on time, making sure there was enough milk in the fridge for the morning. He was more resourceful, more driven. But there was one thing where Bolin undeniably had him beat, and it was something Mako had spent his whole life being jealous of: sleep.

Bolin could sleep any time, anywhere, in almost any position. It was like magic. Lying down, sitting up, under a cardboard box in the rain in winter. When they were younger all Mako had to say was, “Hey Bo, time for bed,” and the little guy would yawn, stretch, and curl up wherever they were, Pabu wrapped around him like a living scarf. Two seconds later he’d start to snore. Meanwhile, Mako would be left watchful and tense, tossing and turning to get warm and comfortable until he was simply too tired and fell unconscious. 

Not much had changed. Mako shifted in his seat and punched the coat balled up under his head. The train rattled and shook as they sped through the night. All around him people had seemingly figured it out. It wasn’t all that late, but soft snores and heavy breathing could be heard from at least a handful of the seats in the passenger car already. How the hell did people sleep sitting up? And with the lights on, and all that shaking? Mako growled and rolled over, then stuffed his coat back under his head. 

After another 15 minutes he gave up. He clearly wasn’t going to sleep any time soon. Instead, he pulled Zaheer’s file out from the shoulder bag at his feet. Then he stood and squeezed past the rather large woman in the aisle seat next to him (of course _she_ had fallen asleep) and made his way up to the dining car. Mako wasn’t very hungry, but maybe they’d have something to drink that could help him sleep. At any rate it was something to do, and he felt better about re-reading the confidential files in a more open space where he could catch anyone who might be looking.

The dining car was busier than he’d expected for this time of night. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep. So it was that Mako was all the way to the counter before he realized he recognized one of the other passengers. Even in a place as diverse as Republic City there weren’t a ton of people who looked cut from a Fire Nation travel advertisement. But who better than a member of the royal family himself? Iroh might downplay that fact, but you couldn’t deny he looked the part.

He was dressed casually, hunched over at a booth at the far end of the dining car, and appeared to be examining a plate of french fries. At first Mako was so surprised that he wasn’t sure it was him. Chief Beifong had told him Iroh’s charges had been dropped and that they’d both judged him safe enough to leave, but being released and checking in at the station twice a day was a far cry from taking a train out of town. 

Iroh picked up a single fry, studied it, then used it to push the other fries into a slightly different position. The move made his face clearly visible, and if that hadn’t been enough, the look of silent scrutiny on his face was classic Iroh. It was definitely him. But what the hell was he doing on the train to Zaofu? Didn’t he have stuff to do? Really, really important stuff? The United Forces was in charge of the hunt for Zaheer, at least in part, and Mako would be shocked if they hadn’t stepped in to help protect Korra as well. The White Lotus had had one job and had fucked it up royally. Even if the prison breaks weren’t an inside job, and Mako had a lot of reasons to believe they might be, the most important thing in the world now was to make sure that those Red Lotus nutjobs stayed as far away from Korra as possible. Surely Iroh and the rest of the United Forces were giving that their full attention, right? 

Mako started forward, then hesitated. It was entirely possible that this Red Lotus thing was big enough that the United Forces were more than involved, but running the show. Chief Beifong had said as much about the manhunt, and from what he’d seen in the file there was good reason to put it in their hands instead of the White Lotus. Could Iroh then be on a similar mission as he was, looking into how Zaheer got out in the first place? If so, and Mako had been sent separately, there was probably a good reason for it. It might be good to keep his distance and pretend he hadn’t seen him.

Then he dismissed the thought. Even if there was a separate UF investigation, they’d never send Iroh himself. If anything, he’d be the one doing the sending. He also wasn’t an investigator. They had people for that, specialists, same as RCPD or, hell, even the Triple Threats. The general wasn’t who you sent in alone to figure something out. He was who you sent in to take someone down. Simply put, Iroh was muscle. Very high up, important, strategic muscle with a whole army at his back, but muscle all the same. Mako would know. He’d been muscle once himself.

He ordered a cup of tea and made his way over to the far end of the car. His friend didn’t look up, seemingly still absorbed in re-arranging his french fries. 

“Iroh?”

Iroh jumped a little. For someone with nerves of steel on the battlefield, he was sure easy to startle when he wasn’t paying attention. His gold eyes met Mako’s and widened in surprise.

“Mako? What are you doing here?” Then he quickly gestured to the bench across from him. “Please, sit.”

Mako sat. He put Zaheer’s file on the table, careful to make sure it was face down. Then he took a sip of his tea. It wasn’t particularly good, but he’d never been much of a tea drinker anyway. It all kind of tasted like warm leaf juice to him. He drank it anyway though. He’d never been all that picky, and he’d already paid for it. 

They sat in silence for a long beat, and Mako realized that he hadn’t had a plan. Was he here to berate him for not being back in Republic City protecting Korra, or just saying hi? And if so, was he then expected to spend the rest of the train ride hanging out with Iroh and Asami? Or worse, if Asami was fast asleep—she, like Bolin, was a champion sleeper—just Iroh? He liked Iroh and considered them friends, but neither of them were exactly chatty. Come to think of it, he didn’t think they’d ever spent any real time alone together. Iroh and Bolin had been hanging out every week for years, but for some reason that closeness had never extended to Mako.

Iroh broke the silence. “All right, you first.”

Mako raised an eyebrow. “Me first what?”

“What are you doing in the second class dining car of the United Republic Eastern Intercontinental No. 8 to Ba Sing Se at”—he made a show of looking at that ridiculous watch Asami had made him, the one without any real numbers—“21:10 on a Tuesday?”

“Oh.” Mako fingered the file on Zaheer. “I can’t tell you. Police business.”

Iroh inclined his head slightly. “I figured as much. I won’t press.” Then he nodded to Mako’s cup. The tea bag was floating on the surface now like it had died there. “How do you drink that stuff? Spirits, I thought we had lousy tea in the Forces, but you might have to pay me to drink what they have here. It’s not much better in the other dining car, either.”

Mako pressed his lips together. The other dining car was first class only. Of course Iroh would not only be in first, but not think about the fact that Mako most definitely wasn’t. “All tea tastes like boiled vegetables,” he said, probably more curtly than he should have. “I just wanted something hot.”

Iroh didn’t seem to notice the tone. “I understand. And I know I’m more of a tea snob than most.” He didn’t appear to have ordered a drink of any kind.

Well, no point in beating around the bush. “Your turn,” Mako said. “What are you doing in the second class dining car on whatever number train this is to Zaofu?” He put a small amount of emphasis on the word _second._ He hadn’t meant to; it just came out like that.

Iroh gave him the ghost of a smile. “It’s a personal trip. At least the train part. As for the dining car, well.” He glanced down at his mostly untouched plate. “I thought I wanted french fries, and they only had them in this one.” He pushed the plate towards Mako. “It turns out I’m not hungry though. Help yourself.”

Wait, a personal trip? Zaheer and Ming-Hua were probably hunting Korra right now and Iroh was not only not heading up her protection in Republic City, he and Asami were going on _vacation?_ Sure they had missed one another, but he’d thought better of both of them than that. Korra was the Avatar, the most important person in the world, but more than that, she was their friend.

Mako took a few fries and stuffed them in his mouth, mostly as a way to keep himself from saying something he might regret. They were cold, but tasted good anyway, salty and crisp. He chewed slowly, swallowing the hot feelings threatening to boil up from his chest and out of his mouth. Maybe taking this assignment had been a bad idea after all. Chief Beifong was right, this _was_ personal for him, and if the White Lotus and the United Forces weren’t going to keep Korra from getting kidnapped or worse, he’d do it himself. He could call the station from Zaofu, and his promotion be damned.

Mako opened his mouth to ask something slightly less accusatory about who was guarding Korra, then closed it again as he really looked at his friend. Iroh seemed pale, even for him, and his face looked somewhat puffy. His hair was sticking up all over, and his eyes were bloodshot. His fries looked like they’d been moved a lot, but not eaten. Even more than that, there was a… droop to him, he supposed. Everyone got tired and rumpled while traveling, but Iroh was a bit of a neat freak and they’d only left Republic City a few hours ago. If it had been anyone else Mako would have said he’d been drinking, or perhaps waiting out a hangover, but as it was his best guess was that Iroh was pretty sick. And Iroh, deep cuts, and looking sick was a very, very bad combination.

Time to change questions. “How’s your leg?”

Iroh picked up another fry, looked at it, and put it down. “Mostly fine. A little sore. I jogged on it yesterday when I was late to something and probably shouldn’t have. And I have every intention of getting you a new bottle of whiskey when I’m back, Mako, I swear. I just haven’t had time.”

“Are you sure?” Mako asked. “Because you look like hell, I’m just gonna say that. You’re not, you know, feeling septic or anything, are you?” He had no idea if septic was a feeling or not. Mako hadn’t had much more than a bad cold since he was a kid. 

Iroh snorted softly, but there seemed to be no real humor in it. “No, nothing like that. Between Korra, Yue, and that Fa Re stuff we poured on the cut there’s probably not a germ left in my body.” He let out a slow breath, but didn’t say anything further. 

“And you’re not… you’re still you? Remembering everything?”

Iroh’s face got a pinched look, as if he was in sudden pain. Whatever he might say, he clearly wasn’t well. “As far as I know,” he said. “No more missing time, and nothing odd. Nothing new, at least.”

“So where are you guys heading?” Mako asked, picking up a few more fries and choosing to change the subject. He wanted to question him further about Korra’s defenses, but that could probably wait. The guy looked terrible and needed sleep, or whatever passed for it on a shaking, rattling train. 

“I…” Iroh trailed off, apparently thinking better of whatever he’d been about to say. But the expression on his face was awful. It looked like he’d been stabbed or something. Whatever was wrong with him, it hurt. Some kind of intestinal thing? If that was the case, french fries were about the last thing he needed.

“That’s it,” Mako said. He braced his arms against the table and stood. “I think we should get you back to your seat. I’m surprised Asami let you come down here and eat junk food when you look like you should be pumped full of soup and sent straight to bed. Let alone take a trip.” 

The color drained from Iroh’s face. “Ah. That’s what… no, Asami isn’t here. It’s just… I’m alone.”

Something about his tone of voice prickled the hairs on the back of Mako’s neck. “Iroh, where are you going?”

At first the other man said nothing. Instead a series of emotions flickered across his face: guilt, confusion, worry. Sometimes Mako wondered how a person like Iroh had ever gotten to be a general considering how obvious it usually was to know what he was thinking. Then again, the man was a hell of a Pai Sho player, too, or at least a lot better than Mako, so who knew how these things worked? No one ever seemed to know what Mako was thinking, even when he wanted them to.

Iroh seemed to come to some decision. “I have some things I’d like to talk to you about, Mako, if you’re willing. But I’ll need you to be a friend, not an officer.”

“Okay,” Mako said slowly. This was dangerous territory. “But if you did anything illegal, you know I have to report it. I can’t just set that aside.”

Iroh nodded. “What cabin are you in?”

Mako felt a faint flush rise to his face. “I… I’m not.” He cocked his head back the way he came. “Not on RCPD’s budget, anyway. If you need a private place to talk, I’d best come up to you.”

It was Iroh’s turn to look embarrassed. “Ah. Um, all right. Follow me.”

***

Iroh’s first class cabin was considerably nicer than Mako’s apartment. It was much smaller, of course, perhaps 8’x12’, but it was furnished like something out of Asami’s dad’s estate. The walls were all dark, shiny wood, with lots of decorative gilding running along all the edges. There was a single bed covered with fluffy pillows and a heavy black and gold quilt patterned with plants and flowers. The wall above it was mostly windows covered in matching curtains. There was also a desk, a tall wardrobe for clothes, and even a comfortable-looking couch against the back wall. A tiny door left ajar in the front revealed a small sink and mirror. He spotted Iroh’s black leather toiletry bag stowed carefully on a shelf above the towel rack. 

Iroh put the key on the desk, then sat heavily on the bed. He looked like he belonged there; one more elegant item for the collection. Mako sat on the couch. 

“So what’s going on?” he asked. “I was surprised to see you leaving Republic City. You just got back, and Chief Beifong told me about your plan to check in with RCPD every six hours. Where are you going?”

Iroh ran a hand through his hair. “All right, here it goes,” he said. “I know you’re going to Zaofu to look into Zaheer’s escape. But I’m starting to think that what you’re looking for and what I’m looking for are connected, and I think we might be able to help one another. Or rather, I know you can help me, and I’m hoping that if you can find a use for me maybe you will.” 

Mako’s eyes flew open. “How did you…?”

“I called it the train to Ba Sing Se,” Iroh said. He reached down and started taking off his boots. “You said the train to Zaofu, which means that’s probably your stop. That there in your hand is a police file, and an obvious reason you’d work at having it upside-down all the time would be if there was a big name and photograph on the first page. I couldn’t read text across the table, even if I didn’t need reading glasses, but I could see a picture. And when I told you it was a personal trip, you looked angry at me. That would only make sense if you thought there was somewhere else I should be. Guarding Korra, perhaps? Hunting Zaheer? Which you would only know needed to be done if the contents of that police file had something to do with the Red Lotus.” Iroh smiled a little and swung his socked feet up on the bed, resting his back on the pile of pillows so that he was facing Mako. “Red Lotus plus Zaofu, and high enough priority to have the department send a detective out of town? It wasn’t hard.”

 _Not bad for muscle,_ Mako thought, stunned. It still didn’t make him an investigator, but if the pieces were all there Iroh could sometimes put things together with an unsettling speed. Well, he had said _strategic_ muscle.

“I still can’t tell you about police business, I,” he said.

Iroh’s face fell. “Will you hear me out anyway?”

“Of course.”

“All right. There’s a longer story, but the short version is this: while I was in Ba Sing Se, someone drugged me while I was out at a bar for what they said were harmless purposes. I believe them. They gave me too much, and I don’t remember the rest of the evening. This person has told me what they observed, but we weren’t together the entire time. I also can’t believe that missing time and what happened on Sunday are a coincidence, and now have some evidence that they are not. I’m going to Ba Sing Se to try and learn what I did during the time I was separated. There are personal reasons I need to know, but I also think it might help me understand what happened last weekend, and if it might happen again.” 

“Wait, someone drugged you? That’s what Sunday was all about? But that Yue guy said—”

“It’s more complicated than that. I was drugged weeks ago. I don’t know what Sunday was. It might have been some kind of flashback, or a companion drug, I don’t know. Asami… and I have gotten nowhere in understanding why I did the things I did in Republic City. Attacking Miss Fan, trying to get over that fence. I need to know more.”

Mako wasn’t stupid. Iroh’s voice had dropped when he said Asami’s name. That, his presence here, and how he’d acted in the dining room—well, he wasn’t the only one who could put two and two together. “Did something happen to Asami, I?” he said carefully. He honestly didn’t know what he’d do if Iroh had physically hurt her.

“She’s fine,” Iroh said quickly. The stabbed look was back though. He bit his lip. “She’s perfectly safe. But she wanted… we’re taking a break. Until I can figure some of this out.”

Oh shit. That was serious. For all his complicated feelings about Iroh and Asami’s relationship, there was no doubt they were completely committed to each other. Two days ago she’d practically broken down his front door trying to get to the guy. What the hell could have happened for her to kick him out? And no wonder Iroh looked sick.

“So you want a detective,” Mako said. That part, at least, seemed obvious now. The rest could wait.

Iroh nodded. “I’ll go alone if I have to, but this is what you do. I came to you on Sunday for a reason, Mako. I’m not sure what I’m looking for, and I know damned well that I won’t be objective. Besides, I’m still not entirely sure that I won’t have another episode. Having you at my back is a good safety precaution.”

“Iroh, say you’re right. You know I’d go out of my way to help you. But if I was going to dig into Zaheer’s escape, that’s top priority. I can’t let anything get in the way of that. Korra’s not just the Avatar, she’s… she’s Korra. She won’t stay in a prison. How long before she sneaks out, looking for a fight? These guys are bad news, I. I need to know what they want, and what they can do. That comes first.”

“Of course,” Iroh said. “I’d expect no less. Which is why I’m offering to help. You might get your answers faster with me along, and when you’ve learned all you can, I would be grateful for your help in Ba Sing Se. It's slower for me, but it’s critical that I get the right answer. It might mean everything.”

“Why would I get answers faster with you along though?”

Iroh smiled again, but it wasn’t his usual smile at all. There was something almost predatory about it. “Because I have level five security clearance, my family—the Fire Nation _royal_ family—has had members in the White Lotus for hundreds of years, my great-granduncle and namesake was the Grand Lotus himself, I’m the General of the United Forces and command an army of thousands, I’m a world-class firebender, and I’m very, very angry. When I ask questions, people answer me.”

Mako felt himself smiling, too. Now _that_ was muscle.


	34. KORRA

Korra knocked again. “Come on,” she muttered. She didn’t want to yell, not given how late it was, but the truth was she was starting to worry. She glanced at the two guards standing a few feet down the hallway. “Hey, you ladies are just supposed to guard me, right?”

The stiff one in the kelly green uniform nodded. “Yes, Avatar Korra.” 

Korra raised an eyebrow. “So anything else that might happen is… just between us?”

“Our mission is to protect the Avatar,” said the one on the right. She clasped her hands behind her, displaying her wide white collar. “We can only do that if you trust us, and allow us to accompany you. Neither the White Lotus, nor I believe the United Forces, wishes to give you reason to, uh, ditch us, as you might say.” 

Korra smiled a little. “Got it. You never saw this.” She took her hand off the knob and let it hover just above the deadbolt. She concentrated, feeling for the tiny bits of dirt and stone inside the metal. She held them in her mind, then twisted her wrist, at the same time  _ pulling _ on the microscopic flecks of earth. The lock shuddered, then clicked open with a thunk. Korra was a little surprised that neither Asami nor Iroh had thought about the possibility of someone being able to metalbend their door open, especially considering how many enemies they’d made among Republic City’s underworld, but no one could think of everything. 

The kitchen light was on, but otherwise the apartment was dark. Korra took a careful step inside. “Asami?” she called. “It’s Korra. I said I was coming over, remember?” She looked back at the White Lotus guards, then stepped inside. “Asami?” 

There was no answer. Korra spotted a mostly empty wine bottle on the counter though. Maybe she’d just fallen asleep? Asami could hold her liquor, but that was a lot for her. She made her way through the kitchen, intending to check the bedroom. Something moved in the corner of her vision. Korra spun and brought her fists up, at the same time opening herself to air. She held it, searching for a target. That’s when she spotted her. 

Asami was kneeling on the balcony outside, doing something on the ground. She hadn’t turned a light on, and was barely visible in the reflected glow of the city beyond. She’d swept her long black hair back into a tail and appeared completely focused on whatever it was she was doing. Korra took a few hesitant steps towards the living room, not wanting to scare her. Over the years she’d learned that Asami not being a bender was actually scarier in a fight because it meant she wasn’t predictable. For all Korra knew she was out there building a handheld laser.

“Asami,” she called carefully. She didn’t look up. “Asami!”

Finally Asami looked at her. It was obvious that she’d been crying, but Korra had heard that much on the phone. “Hi,” she mouthed. She didn’t get up. 

Korra walked over and opened the sliding door. It was freezing out, but for some reason Asami was only wearing pajamas. Laid out on the ground in front of her was a jumbled assortment of mecha parts and an empty rectangular frame. 

“Just a proof of concept,” Asami muttered. She reached one shaking hand down and picked up a piece that looked like a small, wire-wrapped rectangle. “Not enough range.”

“I think you should come in and do this tomorrow,” Korra said. She put her hands on her friend’s shoulders and tried to pull her up. “You’re cold, and it’s late.”

“Need a transmitter anyway. Nothing in the house transmits.”

“You can get one tomorrow.” Korra had no idea what a transmitter was, or how to get one, but if it would get her friend inside she’d promise anything. “Come on. You’re coming with me.” She pulled on Asami’s shoulders again, and this time she stood. 

***

The two guards stood motionless in the bedroom doorway, their faces impassive. Neither of them had spoken since the conversation in the hallway of Asami’s building. Korra didn’t like the idea of talking about personal stuff in front of them, especially someone else’s personal stuff, but they were clearly doing their best to be unobtrusive. 

Asami said nothing. She brought the glass of water up and took a small sip. She’d sobered up a bit on the flight back to Air Temple Island, Korra having half talked, half dragged her into agreeing to come with her on Oogi and spend the night. She was still dressed in her purple pajamas, but hadn’t objected when Korra had grabbed her toothbrush, a change of clothes, and a coat for her as well. The only things Asami herself had taken from the apartment were a couple of sketches of whatever she’d been trying to build and, for some odd reason, one of the pillows from her bed. It rested against her knee, just touching.

Korra had only gotten part of the story out of her. Iroh had done something bad, for which Asami had initially blamed him but then didn’t, and in the meantime he’d gone off to the other end of the Earth Kingdom to investigate whether this bad thing was a part of his blackouts and all of the other weirdness going on or not. But she had no idea why Iroh might have written a note instead of having a conversation, or even what precisely they were fighting about. Korra had had lots of fights, both the breaking up kind and not, but none of them had ever involved passing notes. Maybe this is what book people did? It seemed stupid. Poor Asami, left to read between the lines and think the worst, which of course she would.

Boy, was Korra going to kill him when he turned up.

“Asami,” she said. “Listen to me.  _ Iroh didn’t leave you, _ okay? He just went somewhere else for a while.” She wasn’t just being kind, either. There was no way. Iroh might be an idiot sometimes, but he wouldn’t do that. Not unless he’d found some way to sacrifice himself for something noble. The thought made her pause. That wasn’t exactly without precedent.

Korra flattened the letter Iroh had left against her knee, deciding to stick with the evidence. “Here. He’s talking about when he comes back, and telling you to protect yourself.”

“Sometimes they don’t say what they mean.” It was the first thing Asami had said since they’d arrived besides “okay” and “thank you.”

“Sometimes  _ Mako _ doesn’t say what he means,” Korra said firmly. “And your dad. Iroh doesn’t have that problem.” The damage that asshole had done, honestly. Mako and Asami had only dated for a couple of months, and it had been years ago, but the timing of their breakup combined with all of the Equalist stuff had really left some scars. She grimaced. So had a younger, more thoughtless girl named Korra. 

“He might.”

“Um,  _ hello.  _ You remember Iroh, right? Big guy, kind of cute, can’t lie for shit, followed you around for years like a lovesick polar bear puppy? Slipped a ring on your finger while promising to make you his princess boss forever and ever? You had to have noticed him by now, right?” 

Asami smiled a little. “Shut up.”

That was something. Korra seized on it. “And look.” She ran her finger over the second to last line. “‘I love you more than anything’ is a very funny way to write ‘I don’t wanna be with you.’”

“But why did he leave?”

In truth Korra had been wondering the same thing. Iroh couldn’t really be stupid enough to think Asami wanted him gone, could he? She thought a moment, then decided that he could. 

“Boys are dumb?” That got another small smile out of Asami. “Fireball takes things hard. He probably blames himself for whatever happened.” She raised an eyebrow. “What did he do, anyway?”

Asami shook her head. “He… I can’t. Even though it’s not his fault, he could get in trouble. A lot of trouble.” 

“He told Tenzin.”

“It’s his secret to tell, not mine.”

Korra smiled a little. “See? Here you are all broken-hearted, protecting him anyway. You two are gonna be fine.” 

“What do you think he’s doing right now?”

“Fireball? Probably getting the word ‘ASAMI’ and a big heart tattooed on his chest so you’ll take him back.”

That actually got a little laugh, though Asami still had tears in her eyes. She put the water down, picked up the pillow, and hugged it to her chest. For a moment she looked closer to 14 than 24. Then she said, “Does this place have any ice cream?” 

Korra grinned. “Sure does. Just don’t tell Tenzin or the kids. It’s Pema’s and my secret.”

Asami nodded. “Good. Because I want to hear about your date.”


	35. IROH

Iroh had always liked picking out flowers for a woman. There was a certain strategy to it, combining what you knew about her with what you wanted to communicate, then adding a little of yourself as a kind of signature, something to make it clear that these weren’t just any flowers, but flowers from you, and that you were, by the some transitive property of romance, therefore different from everyone else who may have gotten her flowers in the past. If history was any indication, Iroh was a relatively accomplished flower-buyer, and took some small pride in this.

He stared blankly at the stall. There were so many. Large bright ones. Thin delicate ones. Sprays and blossoms in every imaginable color. But what combination of flowers said, “Asami, let me come home”?

“Bouquet to greet your sweetheart?” chirped a woman’s voice. 

Iroh blinked, then shook his head. “No, thank you. They’re very pretty, but I’m only looking.” He adjusted the duffel bag on his shoulder and turned away. Part of being a good general was knowing when you were defeated. Everything had its limits. Even flowers.

He made his way back to the telephone booth on the platform where he’d left Mako. The big train hissed on the tracks next to him. Iroh eyed the clock hanging from the ceiling. _Five minutes to change your mind,_ he thought. _Go to Ba Sing Se anyway, go now, find out what you need to know even if you have to beat it out of them, do it fast, and then tell Asami…_ But that’s where Iroh got stuck. Because in his heart of hearts, he knew he was guilty. The woman at the club had been paid. He’d gone with her. It may not have been his choice, but he’d gone with her all the same. What else was there to say? Knowing the details wouldn’t make it better.

Mako was squatting beside his own bag on the platform. He looked up as Iroh approached. “There you are. Did you find a map?”

“Yes.” Iroh patted his pocket. “Both city and regional. There wasn’t anything showing the location of a secret prison on it though, and when I asked the man behind the counter said he’d never heard of it.”

Mako looked up sharply, then his face seemed to relax when he realized Iroh was joking. “Very funny. Anyway, Chief Beifong says you’re in.” He zipped his bag and stood. “I’ll give you what I’ve got when we get to the hotel, though it sounds like you know most of it already.”

“Hotel? We’re not just... going?” It wasn’t all that late, and after a bit of pressure he’d finally convinced Mako to sleep on the fold-out couch in his cabin instead of trying to tough it out in a seat, so they’d both had at least some rest. If they spent the night in Zaofu, that would be another whole day’s delay on the way to Ba Sing Se.

Mako narrowed his eyes a little. “No, we’re not just going. This isn’t an assault, Iroh. We need to know where to go, who to talk to, and have some kind of plan for how to do it.”

“My assaults have plans,” Iroh muttered, annoyed. In his experience battle plans rarely worked, so best do the planning on the road. Why hold everything up making a plan if you knew it was going to change anyway?

“My case, my rules,” Mako said. “I don’t care if you’re a general or not.” He hooked a thumb behind him. “I know we’re friends, but if you don’t like it, you’ve got three minutes to hop back on. I need you to trust me or I don’t need you at all.”

Iroh scowled, then nodded. “Fine. Sorry. Your show. You might not be able to stop my advice, but I’ll keep it to a minimum, and I promise decisions will be your call.”

“Okay.” Mako inclined his head towards the telephone booth. “You, er, wanna to talk to anyone?”

 _More than anything._ “No. Let’s go.” 

They had only gone a few paces when Iroh heard a high voice beside him ask, “But how long is it to Ba Sing Se?” He turned his head a little and spotted a small girl, maybe four, with big green eyes and wavy black hair being dragged along by a young woman in a long red coat. “Is daddy on the train? How are we going to find him? Isn’t it big?”

“Not now, honey,” said the woman, clearly exasperated. “We’re going to miss the train. Come on. If you want to visit daddy I need you to walk, not talk.” 

Iroh shoved his hand in his pocket and fingered his ticket. _May as well,_ he thought, and jogged back. “Ma’am,” he called.

She whirled on him. “Yes? I’m sorry, but this is our train, and—”

“Here,” Iroh said, and thrust the ticket at her. “First class, cabin three. I had a change of plans. It’s a long way to Ba Sing Se, especially at her age.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, I couldn’t, we already have—”

“Please. It’s going to waste otherwise. There are even two beds. Just tell Toan that Iroh sent you.” He stepped forward and pressed the ticket into her hand. She gave him a bewildered look, but took it. He glanced down at the little girl. “The french fries are very good,” he said. “Better hurry up.”

Not waiting for an answer, Iroh turned and trotted after Mako, feeling the smallest bit lighter.

***

Iroh picked up the telephone in the hotel room. Spirits, the things were everywhere now. He listened to the dial tone, then put the receiver back in the cradle. Then he looked at his watch. Mako should have been back by now. 

They’d split up a few hours ago. Mako, with his credentials, was to go to the local police station and get as much information as he could about how to get to the White Lotus facility and anything else useful. Presumably there was at least some coordination with local authorities. In the meantime, Iroh had been put in charge of logistics. He’d rented a new kind of satomobile that he’d previously only seen on the Future Industries test track, then located a mountaineering outfitter to supply him with the rest of what he thought they’d need for the trip north. On a whim, he’d thrown in two pairs of enormous mittens that were supposedly made of the same kind of fire-retardant fabric as his United Forces uniform gloves. Not forgetting what had happened the last time they’d worked a case together, he made sure Mako’s mittens were pink and extremely fluffy. 

Iroh picked up the telephone again, then dialed the number for the apartment before he quickly hung up. _No. I promised to give her some space._

There at a knock at the door. Iroh stood up as Mako let himself in. He’d changed into his dark gray officer’s uniform almost as soon as they’d arrived to add to his air of officialness, and from the expression on his face that must have yielded some success. 

“It went well?” Iroh asked. He walked and sat down on his bed. It squeaked a little. The hotel had been considerably less expensive than his cabin on the train.

“Better than well,” Mako said. He pulled some papers out of the inside pocket of his jacket. “It turns out working for a Beifong opens a lot of doors in ZPD.” He laid the papers on the small table by the window. “I’ve got a location and a better map, a letter of introduction, and a couple of pages of notes on what went down right after the escape. And you were right, Kuvira is back in town, so we should find her later if we can."

Iroh glanced at the telephone, then looked back up at Mako. “That’s as good as we could hope for. Supplies are done. When did you want to make this thoughtful plan of yours?”

Mako seemed to study him for a moment. “Right after you call Asami.” 

“What?”

“I said, right after you call your wife, Iroh. I don’t know what you did, and I don’t need to, at least not yet, but I do know that you should talk to her. At least try.”

“I did try.”

“Not today you didn’t.” Mako picked up the telephone and dropped it on the bed next to Iroh’s leg. “I’m gonna to go take a shower. You’re gonna call Asami. My case, my rules.” Then he walked to the bathroom and shut the door.

Iroh waited until he heard the shower start. Then he picked up the phone again. But instead of the apartment he dialed the number for Air Temple Island. After all, he’d promised Tenzin he would check in, so it would be good to let him know the new plan. Maybe Mako would hear him talking and he could pretend he’d tried to reach Asami, too.

The telephone rang once, twice. “Hello?” said a deep voice.

Iroh leaned back against the headboard and swung his legs up onto the bed. “Tenz, it’s Iroh.”

“Iroh? I wasn’t expecting to hear anything from you until tomorrow night. Where are you now? Is everything all right?”

“Yes, fine.” Of course, nothing was fine, but he knew what Tenzin meant. “Change of plans though. Mako was on the train, and it seems we have—”

Suddenly there was a muffled shout on the other end of the line, then a series of thumps and a scuffling sound. Iroh tensed. He knew a fight when he heard one. “Tenzin!” he hissed. “Tenzin, what’s ha—”

“YOU ASSHOLE!” shouted a voice through the receiver. Iroh pulled it quickly away from his ear.

_What? It sounded like…_

“Korra?”

“HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO HER?”

“Korra, what—”

“IROH, YOU’RE GONNA TURN YOUR ASS AROUND RIGHT NOW AND”—another series of scuffling sounds—“ _no,_ Tenzin, you sit down! I can’t believe you let him leave!”

Iroh seized the break in her yelling. “Korra! Slow down! What—”

“Shut up, Iroh!” She must have staved off Tenzin’s bid to reclaim the telephone. “You promised! I saw you. You said ‘until death do us part.’ Are you dead?”

“No, I—”

“Then why did Asami cry herself to sleep in our guest room last night?”

Iroh’s mind went blank. Asami, crying? “Is she okay?” he spit out. “Did something happen?”

“Do you know what she was doing when I found her? She was nearly frozen to death taking apart spirits knows what in your house trying to make an Iroh-tracking device! I had to—”

There was a whoosh and a bang. “Iroh.” Tenzin’s voice again. “I’m sorry, I—Korra! Let me finish—as Korra said, Asami is here with us. She wants to talk to you. Will you do that? It might be easiest.”

Iroh’s mind whirled. Asami had been crying. Asami had been cold. Asami wanted to talk to him. “Of course.” He braced himself for more yelling, or worse.

Another shuffling noise. Then a quiet, tired voice. “Iroh?”

Iroh instinctively pulled in the receiver, forgetting that wouldn’t actually make Asami herself any closer. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

A long silence. “Where are you?”

“Zaofu.” He paused, not knowing if she wanted more than that. At least she hadn’t screamed at him. “Are you… can you at least tell me that you’re okay?”

“I’m okay.” For a long beat neither of them said anything. Then Asami said, in a small voice, “What other arrangements?”

“What?”

“You said in your letter. For when you come back. Other arrangements.”

“Oh.” Iroh hadn’t thought that far ahead. He supposed he should be the one to make them though. Technically they jointly owned three other properties, but they all felt like Asami’s, and even though he’d had the apartment first he didn’t want her to feel unwelcome anywhere. A hotel then, or perhaps one of the ships.

“I don’t know,” he said truthfully. “I hadn’t… I don’t know. I guess it depends on if… on how long you want...” Iroh couldn’t finish. The idea that it might be permanent, that what he’d done wasn’t simply awful, but truly unforgivable, was something he’d tried very hard to avoid thinking about.

Silence on the other end. Then, “I want?”

“Yes. But I’d hoped… can we at least talk about it? Together, not like this.” Iroh ran one hand through his hair and closed his eyes. “I don’t think I can do it like this.”

“Iroh, you think I want this?”

His breath caught in his chest. “You don’t?”

“Of course I don’t! You left me, remember?”

“But you wouldn’t talk to me,” Iroh said quickly. His heart was pounding now. “You wouldn’t even look at me. You walked out and you wouldn’t return my calls.”

“I’m sorry!” Asami said. She sounded like she might be crying. The sound broke his heart all over again. “I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t even think, and with already being late to work I just… I freaked out. I couldn’t think straight. I knew it was wrong, it was so unfair, but I kept imagining you, and… and her… and I should have stayed. And then everything at Future Industries blew up and I didn’t even know you’d called until late and by the time I got back to you, you were already gone.”

Iroh felt a little sick. “I’m sorry I put you through that. I shouldn’t have rushed you. But I didn’t want you to think I was hiding something. I’d never… I thought not saying it would be worse.”

“It wasn’t you, Iroh,” Asami said. “You were honest and I was horrible. None of this is your fault, okay?”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just processing. “Do you really believe that?” he asked finally.

“Yes. I do. Please. I don’t want you gone, I don’t, I never did. Did you?”

“I thought you needed space. I wanted to be what you needed.”

“I need my Iroh." Iroh froze. Then a warmth began spreading in his chest. _I need my Iroh._ Were there any better words in the world than those?

"So you’re not angry?" he asked slowly. "About what... what I did?"

"I’m not angry," Asami said. She sounded, if anything, sad. "And if I was, it was more at myself than at you. And others. We can talk about that. But not you. You needed me and I wasn’t there. I’m so sorry, and so selfish. Can you forgive me?”

Iroh pressed the heel of his palm into his eyes. His voice came out a bit rough.“There’s nothing to forgive.” 

“Please come back?” He heard the beginnings of a smile in her voice. "There's still ice cream."

Iroh grinned. He felt like he could fly. Spirits, maybe he could. Just run and jump and firebend all the way back to RC. Then his gaze fell on the closed door of the bathroom. He still needed answers. “Not yet. But I can tell you what I’m going to do and why, and I promise I’ll come home and eat that ice cream as soon as I’m able.”

 _Home._ Iroh smiled against the receiver. He was already imagining the flowers he’d bring.

***

Iroh took a bite of his fish and chewed thoughtfully. He didn’t have a lot of experience with lake fish, having spent his entire life either on the coast or on a boat. This particular preparation tasted mostly like butter though. Shame. Iroh could get butter at home a lot more easily than lake fish. He could see what they had down at Quong’s fish market though. It would be fun to make something new for Asami, and he could always cut down the butter.

Kuvira raised a heavy eyebrow. “Is it that good? It’s only lúyú.”

“Ah.” Iroh realized he must have been smiling. He’d been doing a lot of that. He’d talked to Asami for almost an hour, and with every word he’d felt the distance between them shrink until it was like she was right there next to him. Asami still loved him. She wanted him, no matter what had happened. By the time he’d paid the nearly 100-yuan long-distance bill at the reception desk, Iroh thought he might smile forever. “It is very good, thank you. I cook a bit and like trying new foods.”

Kuvira cocked her head a little. “Don’t you have a cook?” Iroh remembered the gesture. A taunt. A challenge. 

_We don’t get a lot of UF tough guys around here. You just going to watch, or what?_

How young they had both been! Iroh laughed. He couldn’t help it. There were so many reasons to laugh now. “No, no cook. Not since I was a kid. I have no objection to being fed by anyone who wants to do it, but Asami and I decided we didn’t want that kind of lifestyle. It’s just us, and Ling, and we prefer it that way.” 

“Ling?”

Mako snorted. “Ling is the fish he didn’t eat.” 

Iroh shot him a look. “Ling is a very important member of the family.” Honestly. It would be like eating Pabu. He looked down at his plate, suddenly wondering exactly what kind of fish lúyú was.

Kuvira took a sip of her wine. Her dark green eyes were fathomless. It was fascinating how little she seemed to have changed in the ten years since Iroh had seen her last. A little harder, a little more solid, and perhaps a shade more reserved, but that was about it. Even her hairstyle was the same. But if she thought having dinner with him in Zaofu was as funny as he did, she didn’t show it. “So, what do you expect to learn up there?”

“I can’t tell you,” Mako said. 

_Police business,_ Iroh thought.

“Police business. It’s strictly need to know.”

Iroh tried not to laugh again. Mako took being a cop very seriously. Too seriously, in his opinion. He was sharp, and a good detective, but he wasn’t terribly subtle, either. Iroh got the feeling that, with Mako, there were only two kinds of people in the world: people who had the right to know police business, and people who didn’t; and the people who fell in the latter group needed to know that he, Mako, was definitely among the former. 

“Then I can’t help you,” Kuvira said. She took a bite of her own food—she and Mako had both ordered steak. “If I don’t know what you’re looking for, I’m of no use.”

“You must talk to those White Lotus guards sometimes though. They have to come to town to resupply. You’re all guards. Are you telling me you never heard anything about that escape?”

“The White Lotus serves the Avatar. I, and the Zaofu guard, serve the Earth Kingdom. We sometimes have common cause, but we serve different goals. We don’t mingle as much as you seem to think.”

“The Avatar serves the Earth Kingdom, too,” Mako said. “And everyone else. It’s the same goal.”

Iroh said nothing. He was letting Mako do most of the talking now. Or rather, Mako was doing most of the talking anyway and Iroh was watching Kuvira. He suspected she knew that, and was watching him likewise. 

Kuvira took another sip of wine. “I was young when you say Zaheer escaped, barely a teenager and several years from joining the guards. I remember a time when we weren’t allowed outdoors for a few days. We weren’t told why.” Her expression darkened a little. “Someone official-looking came to see Su. She seemed upset when they left. I assume now that was an emissary of Queen Hou-Ting’s instructing her to keep the incident quiet.” 

_Hmm._ Kuvira always stated that her loyalty was to the Earth Kingdom, yet her face said that she disapproved of how the Earth Queen had handled the situation. Iroh filed that away.

“And there’s nothing else about the case you remember?” Mako asked. 

She shook her head. “No. I’m sorry.” Then she looked straight at Iroh. “What’s your stake in this, General? I understand it’s police business.”

Iroh tried to keep his face neutral. He found that if he said things that were true, just not all of them, he had better luck. “Mostly happenstance. I ran into Mako on the train, but then my plans changed. I had a few extra days and thought I could lend a hand.”

“You wouldn’t rather have a few days in Zaofu instead?” She smiled a little. “I believe you once asked me to show you the city. It will be cold, but that shouldn’t trouble a firebender.”

For whatever reason, Mako frowned. “I appreciate the offer,” Iroh said. “But I’m afraid I already gave Mako my word. Next time though.”

“Very well.” Kuvira turned back to Mako. “And what route are you taking?” 

“Up the—” 

Iroh elbowed his water glass onto Mako’s plate. “Ah!” he said, jumping up and knocking his chair over. Mako scrambled back. “Shit! I’m so sorry, here, let me get that.” As Iroh grabbed his napkin to dab at the steak he watched Kuvira out of the corner of his eye. Rather than surprise, her face was troubled. She looked, of all things, like she was thinking.

Iroh might not be a detective, but he _was_ a general. And he knew better than to share battle plans over dinner. Especially with someone who was clearly not saying half the things going on behind her eyes.


	36. IROH

It took two days to reach the White Lotus prison of Gaoda Lung. By the time they got there, Iroh was fairly sure that someone was trying to kill them.

He had woken up a little before sunrise the morning after dinner with Kuvira feeling relaxed and well-rested for the first time in days. Mako, who had walked Kuvira back to her barracks before hitting up a local tavern, was predictably still fast asleep. Iroh had always found Zaofu a beautiful city, with its wide boulevards and elegant white buildings, so after a moment’s glance at the other bed he’d thrown on his running shoes and hit the streets. He didn’t go far, just enough to loosen up, but after the stress he’d been under it felt amazing. It was like with every step Iroh shed a tiny weight he hadn’t even known he’d been carrying. By the time he’d worked up a sweat he felt like Asami’s favorite racing sato, all sleek and oiled to perfection. His calf didn’t even hurt anymore. 

Mako was still asleep by the time Iroh got back to the room. In an odd way, they were good traveling companions. Iroh was efficient and Mako was cheap, and both of them were reserved and used to sharing, so decisions such as splitting a hotel room had come easily. But Iroh was also clearly the morning person of the two of them. He strode across the room and pulled open the curtains, filling the room with early morning sunshine. Mako flung an arm up over his face and groaned. 

“Fifteen minute warning,” Iroh said with a smile. Years of living with Asami had made him a master at the many ways of extracting night owls from their beds. “There’s coffee in the lobby. You can take over the mission when you can prove to me you can string together a sentence.” Then he stepped into the bathroom and flipped on the shower, chuckling to himself. 

Iroh called the apartment twenty minutes later. It rang four times before someone picked up.

“Hrmf?” said a woman’s voice. 

Iroh grinned. “Morning, princess.”

“Hrmm,” Asami mumbled. “You ‘kay?”

He relaxed into the chair, still smiling. “I’m great. We’re leaving now, and I’m not sure when I’ll have a telephone again, so I wanted to say I love you.” Mako rolled his eyes before taking another long pull from his coffee cup. He still looked half-asleep, but was packed and dressed anyway. Another bonus: both he and Mako were used to following orders.

There was a soft, sleepy giggle. “You dork.”

Iroh laughed. “You’re the one who wanted the home telephone. Not my fault if I use it.”

Asami made a little growling noise. “Go away. Be safe. Love you.”

“Love you, too. Go back to bed.” He hung up. 

“I almost wish you two were still fighting,” Mako grumbled. He drained the remainder of his coffee and stood. “You’re driving.”

***

Four hours later, Iroh’s good mood had evaporated. 

“I hate mecha,” he growled, flinging the wrench to the ground. It hit with a loud clang, then skittered a few feet away. “How does this thing even come off?”

“How do you not know how to do this?” Mako said from behind him. “You’re married to a mechanic, I. You really can’t change a tire?”

“Because I married a mechanic!” Iroh spat. “What makes you think she ever let me change a tire?” He ground his teeth. “Besides, I don’t see you helping. Didn’t you ever steal one of these things?”

“I kept the books,” Mako huffed. “And anyway, who steals a tire?”

Iroh pressed his face into his palm. “I need a break.” He stood and strode off down the road. 

“Wait, where are you going?”

“You’re the detective,” he called back. “Detect how to get that fucking tire off.” 

Iroh started taking big gulps of the frozen air as he walked, trying to calm himself down. His breath puffed out in clouds of white steam. He hadn’t meant to get so frustrated, and recognized that at least some of it was guilt. Iroh had hired the vehicle, a monstrous thing he’d nicknamed a “snowtomobile” that could supposedly drive on both rough terrain and, of course, packed snow. That made anything that went wrong with it his fault. The flat didn’t make any sense, either. The tires on the snowtomobile were big and thick. He’d have thought it would take a veritable railroad spike to pierce something like that. Yet here they were. Thank goodness it came with a spare. 

There was no traffic to speak of, and hadn’t been since they’d left Zaofu’s few ski resorts behind. The little two-lane road through the passes was dangerous in winter, and at times even impassable. More to the point, it didn’t lead anywhere, or at least anywhere most people wanted to go. Eventually it came out in Senlin, following the old trade routes, but with trains, planes, and airships few travelers ever drove. In mid-winter, that number dropped to approximately Iroh and Mako. Which meant that if they got truly stuck, it was unlikely that anyone would be by to help them. 

Iroh stopped at the bend in the road, then walked onto what in summer must be a soft shoulder. The snow wasn’t terribly deep yet, only about a foot, but it was enough that he went carefully anyway. If anything tripped him, it was a long way down. He crept up to the edge, now more interested than angry. The United Republic had mountains, of course, as did the Fire Nation, but nothing like these. Tall, snow-covered peaks rose up in nearly every direction from a forest of thick frosted pines. Below him, the mountain fell away in a drop that must have been a thousand feet of black, snow-covered rock and ragged forest. It all looked very sharp. It was eerily silent, too, the only noise the faint clangs and muttered curses of whatever Mako was doing. 

He felt it before he heard it. A low rumbling beneath his feet. At first Iroh thought he’d been wrong, and it was another vehicle. After all, someone was keeping the roads clear. He stepped back from the edge and cupped his hand to his mouth, intending to tell Mako to watch the road. He never made it. As fast as lightning the rumbling turned to shaking, then a bone-clattering roar. Iroh looked up and stopped cold, his hand frozen halfway to his lips.

The sky above was gone, replaced with a boiling wall of snow. Iroh didn’t think. He spun, pelted the few feet to the edge of the cliff, and jumped. 

At the same time he pressed his arms to his sides and pushed fire out of his hands and feet as hard as he could. Iroh launched himself into the air as the ground fell away, using his bending to propel himself upwards as fast as he could. He dropped his shoulder and moved his right hand a little, banking left, picking the direction he’d come from in hopes that some combination of up and sideways would get him out of the path of the avalanche. He didn’t dare look back, instead using every ounce of concentration and focus to power his bending. 

The roar diminished. It sounded, of all things, like a train disappearing into a tunnel. It was amazing how _fast_ it had been. One moment, nothing. Then it felt like the world was tearing itself in two. A minute after that, and all that was left was a chorus of distant echoes. Iroh finally allowed himself to look back, his heart hammering in his chest as he banked in a slow circle to come back around. He was a bit surprised how high up he was. Using his firebending to “fly” was usually more like gliding; he’d pulled off some pretty spectacular jumps, and could use the ability in a kind of controlled fall that slowly lowered him down over a distance of a few miles, but he’d rarely gained any real height. Then again, he’d been terrified, and instinct had mostly taken over. Maybe that was the trick. 

Iroh landed in a crouch about ten feet from the snowtomobile. Amazingly, there was hardly any snow here, even though he’d been, at most, 100 yards up the road. Mako just stared at him, his face white. 

“You okay?” he asked. His voice was shaking.

“Yeah.” 

“For a second I thought… spirits, I had no idea what was happening. It sounded like an explosion.”

Iroh reached up and brushed the powder out of his hair. “It was. An explosion of snow.” Then he rolled his wrists a little, filling his palms with tiny flames. He bent over and held his hands a few inches from his hair, trying to dry it before it froze. He kept an eye on Mako through his legs. Iroh realized vaguely that he was in some kind of shock, and that this was not a normal reaction to having almost been killed.

Mako shook his head. “If we’d have pulled over…” 

“I know.” Even if they’d somehow survived, if they’d parked even a few hundred feet down the road the snowtomobile would have been toast. Despite being about as powerful as Iroh, Mako wasn’t as good at using his bending to keep warm, nor had he mastered Iroh’s flying technique. Iroh wasn’t sure he could have firebent himself all the way back to help, but even if he could, it would be hours before they’d be able to reach Mako again. Without any supplies, and with night coming on, in all likelihood he would have frozen to death by then. 

“Fuck,” muttered Mako. He still sounded shaky. “That was… fuck.” 

Iroh flipped his head up, then looked back at where he’d been standing. Snow now filled the entire roadcut. “That might also be a problem,” he said. He still felt slightly stunned. 

“Well, one thing at a time,” Mako said. “Here, come look at this.” He walked around to the back of the jacked up snowtomobile. Iroh followed. At first, it seemed like good news. The left rear tire now sat on its side in the snow. Spirits knows how Mako had gotten it off, but he had. Then Iroh noticed the long metal spike sticking out of the side.

He crouched down next to the tire. It wasn’t actually a railroad spike, but it was about the same size. It was almost perfectly conical though, and shiny. “What is it?” he asked.

“Fuck if I know,” said Mako. “But look. It doesn’t have a scratch on it. It hasn’t been on the road long. And how did something that size get stuck in the _side_ of the tire?”

“I don’t know.”

“Iroh.” Something in Mako’s voice made him pause. “I may be a city kid, but I had a picture book when I was little. It talked about the seasons. Summer, hot. Fall, leaves. Winter, frozen. Stuff like that. And spring was melt. There were pictures of icicles dripping, I remember that.” He looked back at the blocked road. “How common are avalanches in early December?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve spent most of my life on the water.”

Mako used the tip of his boot to gently kick the spike. “Do you think it’s a coincidence we stopped here?” 

Iroh looked up at him. He didn’t have an answer to that.


	37. MAKO

They broke through a little before sunset. “I’m out!” Iroh called, his voice distant and echoing. Mako stood up from the area that he’d firebent dry and walked to the mouth of the opening. They’d taken turns over the last seven hours, one of them melting through the snow packing the roadcut with their bending while the other rested and, by unspoken agreement, kept watch. By now they had a rough tunnel a little taller than Mako and about as wide—the bare minimum needed to hopefully coax the giant satomobile through. It was thankless, exhausting work, and Iroh seemed especially tired, but neither of them had discussed returning to Zaofu. For Mako, it was simple: if someone was interfering with an investigation, there was probably a damned good reason, which meant that there was no way in hell that he was going to let them do it. Iroh, for his part, was probably just being stubborn. 

“What’s it like on the other side?” Mako shouted into the tunnel. They’d also agreed that they should never both be inside at once in case of a cave-in. 

“Not bad,” came Iroh’s voice. He was just visible, a dim shape perhaps 300ft down the darkened shaft. “Nothing the snowtomobile can’t handle.” Mako felt something inside him unclench. His greatest fear had been that this hadn’t been the only avalanche. If that had been the case, the road might have been impassable for miles. He wasn’t sure what they would have done then. Hire an airship?

“You want to switch?” Mako called.

A faint pause. “All right.” 

Iroh emerged a minute later, face bright red, his black hair dusted with snow. He looked exhausted. Over the years Mako had learned they had different strengths. They were both powerful firebenders, some of the best he’d encountered, but Iroh had a kind of soft touch that Mako had never gotten the hang of. Like that lightning in a glass thing, that was absolutely crazy. Mako wasn’t sure most of the bending masters could do something like that. He was also oddly a bit better at the big stuff. He’d seen Iroh lob white fireballs— _white_ ones, mind you—into targets 200 yards away with frightening accuracy. But for all that, he tapped out pretty fast. Iroh burned quick and hot and then was more or less done. He sometimes got so tired he couldn’t firebend at all, something Mako hadn’t even known was possible. He himself, on the other hand, was all endurance. It had been years since Mako had been in the arena, but he’d been a hell of a pro-bender in his day in a way he knew his friend never could be. He had strength and, more importantly, stamina. At the top of his game he could throw hard and fast all day long without breaking a sweat, and he wasn’t all that much out of practice. Which had meant that, as the day wore on, he’d been taking longer and longer shifts firebending the tunnel. If you wanted to carve an ice sculpture or burn down a skyscraper, you called Iroh. If you wanted spend all day melting a big fucking hole, well, Mako was your man. 

“The tunnel seems stable enough,” Iroh said. He squatted down in the road and picked up a small rock, examining it. To Mako it just looked like a rock, but Iroh found weird stuff interesting. “I’m actually surprised by how solid it seems, but I suppose it’s heavy enough that the snow compacted. We’re losing the light though. What do you think?”

Mako knew he was mostly being polite. Iroh wanted to keep going. He could read it in every tense line of his body. But there were risks for sure. If the tunnel collapsed with the sato inside while they were going through, they’d have no light by which to attempt a rescue. Yet if the spike in the tire _had_ been intentional, let alone the avalanche, chances were that whoever was behind it was on this side of the collapse. If the two of them went through and closed the tunnel behind them, it would be at least a small bit of protection. 

Mako rubbed at the back of his neck, thinking. One vote for, and one unsure. And they had to go through eventually. “If we go now,” he said slowly, “only one of us is in the sato. Then if something goes wrong at least we’ll have a chance.”

Iroh pitched his rock across the road and looked up, one eyebrow cocked slightly. “I assume I’m the badgermole in this scenario?”

“I can drive,” Mako said quickly, but Iroh was already shaking his head. 

“Nonsense. I’m beat. If I get collapsed in on, I’ll just take a nap and wait for you to rescue me. If you have to wait on me, you’ll be here until summer.” He smiled a little, as if trying to make it a joke, but he looked worried. 

“We don’t know how much air that big tank of yours holds. A day? A couple of hours? Depending on where in the tunnel it was—”

Iroh abruptly stood. “All the more reason for it to be me. I’m better at controlling my breathing than you.” He nodded down the tunnel. “Better get going and finish the end. Yell when you think it’s wide enough for the snowto and then get out. I’ll take her through.”

Mako hesitated, then nodded and started walking towards the mouth of the tunnel. He knew Iroh was taking the more dangerous task on purpose. They’d had to guess at the dimensions of the tunnel, and with the extra vibrations from the mecha who knew what could happen? But everything he’d said was true, too. The guy looked dead on his feet. If something did happen and the tunnel collapsed, there’s no way Iroh had enough juice to get the sato out even if he killed himself trying. Mako supposed he could work from the inside out, but he might not be able to get the doors open, and anyway fire ate air. If he couldn’t break through fast or got turned around, he’d be dead in minutes instead of hours.

A half hour later Mako called the all clear, having widened the small hole at the far end to fit the rest of the opening. For a moment he wasn’t sure Iroh had heard him. Then the sato’s engine roared to life. Mako jogged back from the mouth of the tunnel, making sure he’d be well out of the path if anything else came down the mountain. Then he waited. Soon he could see lights. A minute later the big satomobile trundled slowly through the opening. Asami had always made fun of Iroh’s careful driving, but for once it seemed to have come in handy. From what Mako could tell, the sato had only just fit, and if the snow on the roof was any indication it may have been less than even that. Damn that thing was big. 

Iroh pulled up next to him, his face white. He rolled down the window. “As long as I’m in here, I think we should keep going. Put a little more distance between us and any other loose snow up there.” _And some distance between us and anyone who might be laying spikes in the road,_ Mako added. It was fine with him. He nodded, then walked back to the tunnel. This was really the kind of thing Iroh was good at, but he would give it a go anyway. Mako pulled at the fire inside him, scrunching it into a hard ball around his heart. He leaned back, then hurled his arm forward. At the same time, he let go. An orange fireball the size and color of Pabu shot out from his closed fist and hit the snow about three feet above the top of the tunnel. There was a whumpfing sound as the blast punched through the packed snow, cracking it. Then a huge section of snow broke free and hit the asphalt with a crash. Mako reached up and covered his face with his arm. When he looked again, a pile of shattered blocks of snow about five feet high blocked the entrance. It wasn’t perfect, but it would stop any vehicles without a plow and be a huge pain for anyone who couldn’t bend water or fire. _Good enough._

He trotted back to the car and got in.

***

Mako sat on an overturned stump and watched Iroh make fire. This was the kind of thing he was terrible at—in part because it was hard, but mostly because he didn’t have the patience. Iroh knelt in the snow, both hands moving in a kind of circle as flames only a few inches high shot from his fingertips. He’d been at it for a few minutes already, slowly drying out the wood he’d gathered from beneath the trees on the side of the road where they’d pulled over. Iroh claimed just hitting the wood with a big blast would only make it smoke. Mako didn’t know the first thing about wood fires, and cared even less. It was full dark now, and had been for two hours at least, but the sky was full of stars and it was easy enough to see. If they could both bend fire, a third fire seemed like a waste of effort.

Iroh made a little humming noise. Then he leaned back slightly, swept his right hand in a swift arc, and dropped a fat red ball of fire on top of the newly dried pile of logs. They caught with a whoosh and began cracking merrily. Iroh grinned, then sat back and crossed his legs.

“Never thought I’d get you to go camping again,” he said with a smile. _I didn’t either,_ Mako thought, but he knew better than to say it. Iroh loved camping, and he’d somehow converted Asami, but the one time he’d invited Mako and Bolin for a “man’s weekend” in the mountains east of Republic City it had been a disaster. Mako’s idea of a relaxing time was, well, relaxing. A cold beer, some conversation, maybe a card game for stakes. Iroh’s idea of relaxing seemed to be working. He’d spent the whole weekend doing odd things like chopping wood or trying to catch fish with lightning bending or making him and Bolin to climb steep hills for the hell of it. The tent itself was small and hot, and the ground was full of rocks. Bolin had gotten into it eventually, because Bolin could get into anything as long as someone would do it with him, but Mako had wound up nothing but bored and sore. Only rich people slept outdoors for fun.

“This isn’t camping,” Mako said, gesturing to the road. “It’s sleeping in the satomobile because we lost eight hours and are too tired to drive safely through the mountains in the dark.”

“Who said anything about sleeping in the sato?” Iroh said. He hopped up, abandoning his little fire, and walked back over to the open back of the vehicle. He dug around, then pulled out a long black bag.

“What’s that?” Mako asked.

“The tent.”

Mako blinked. That hadn’t been on the supply list. “You brought a tent?” 

Iroh smirked. “You put me in charge of supplies.”

“I gave you a _list_ of supplies.” Suddenly Mako wondered what else Iroh might have snuck in.

The other man only shrugged. “I looked at your maps and thought you were shorting the travel time. We also have no idea what the facility will be like when we get there, or if they’ll let us stay. I thought odds were good we’d need to spend at least one night on the road, and it’s cold. I have sleeping bags as well.”

“No, okay, but can’t we just sleep in the sato? It’s huge.” 

Iroh gave him a funny look. “Why would you sleep in the snowtomobile when we have a tent?”

Mako rubbed the back of his neck, baffled. For fucks sake, there was a foot of snow on the ground. “Why would you sleep outside when you have somewhere inside instead?”

“I’m not interested in sleeping in a seat. My legs are too long.”

Mako threw a glance back at the enormous satomobile. He and Iroh were about the same height, and he thought it would be fine. He’d made do with far tighter spaces if it meant not freezing his ass off. “Well I’m not interested in being eaten by a pack of marmot wolves in the middle of the night. I’m sleeping in the sato.”

Iroh placed the black bag next to the fire and sat back down, slowly shaking his head. He looked just as confused as Mako felt. “Suit yourself.”

They passed a few minutes in silence. Mako let his mind drift as the adrenaline of the day slowly faded. His primary thought was of his little apartment, and how nice it would be to lie down in his own bed instead of on a train or in a satomobile. It was such an amazing thing, having a bed of one’s own; this would teach him to be more grateful.

“Honest answer: what do you think?” Iroh said abruptly, his brow furrowed. He appeared to be studying the fire.

“What do I think about what?”

“What do you think we’re going to find. At Gaoda Lung prison. You’re the detective, you’ve had the briefing for days. You must have a theory.”

Mako hesitated. Chief Beifong had said to bring him in though. And that metal spike in the tire. That was the thing that bothered him the most. “I think there’s something up there we aren’t supposed to know,” he said. “A piece of information, something about why or how Zaheer escaped, and maybe even why the Earth Queen covered it up. It matters” He shook his head. “I don’t know what, or how. But I keep thinking, why now? The guy got away, got away clean years ago when no one has ever escaped before.”

“That sounds about right,” Iroh said. His voice dropped a little. “I’ve never been to prison, not really, but I’ve been captured a few times and broken out. There are only two ways to do it. Use your own power, or have help. Either way, it leaves a sign. I think you’re right. However Zaheer managed to leave Gaoda Lung, it’s important. And if you’re also right that the flat tire was no accident, it might be obvious what it is once we get there, too.”

Mako scratched his head. The thing that kept bothering him was, why did it matter? Zaheer was already free, and had freed a second member of his order. He’d somehow recruited airbenders, too, and in the Fire Nation of all places. But what did it _mean?_ Or rather, what did it mean about what he wanted. Because, deep down, Mako knew that was the only question that mattered. 

“Iroh,” he asked suddenly. “Did you know?”

His friend looked up from the fire. “Know what?”

“About Korra. About the time Zaheer and the other members of the Red Lotus tried to kidnap her.”

Iroh said nothing for a moment. Then he nodded. “Yes. Not in detail, but yes.”

“What did they want?”

“As far as I know, it’s still a mystery.” Iroh looked away. “They were all interrogated. For days, I think, but they never broke. There were four of them: Zaheer and Ming-Hua, and two others, an earthbender named Ghazan and a firebender woman called P’Li, who are still in custody. My assumption is they wanted to raise her in their order, to harness her power somehow, but nobody knows for sure. They never gave it up.”

Mako ground his teeth. This was about the safety of the Avatar, of Korra. Not talking simply wasn't acceptable. “But that’s the most important part!” he spat. “Why isn’t the White Lotus getting this information out of the other two, Ghazan and P’Li? Just make them tell us what they want with Korra, and if Zaheer still wants it. Threaten them or beat it out of them or, I don’t know, something!”

Iroh stared back at him with sober eyes, and for a moment Mako stopped. He'd forgotten that his friend had been beaten for information, too. Beaten, and then forced to listen to Asami scream. As far as he knew, Iroh had never talked. Not once. Instead, he’d traded his life for her—and Mako’s—release.

“Mako, this is the Avatar," he said quietly, in an eerie echo of his own thoughts. "What makes you think they aren’t?”


	38. MAKO

A crunching sound startled Mako awake. Someone shouted and his eyes snapped open. He was already gathering fire into his hands, his body responding to the threat before his brain even knew what was going on. It was obviously still the middle of the night, but you didn’t grow up the way Mako had without learning to wake up swinging, and thankfully some habits died hard.

Mako jerked his head up and looked out the window of the satomobile just as the entire back side of Iroh’s little yellow tent collapsed. _What the fuck?_ He instinctively brought his flaming hand up in defense as his conscious mind struggled to keep up. There was a low growling sound and the tent exploded inwards in a flurry of sound and motion. The whole structure rocked, then rolled on its side. Then Mako saw it, a huge shaggy shape rearing back on its haunches, its outline clearly visible in the starlight, and he realized that one entire side of the sagging sideways tent was simply gone. 

_Wow, that’s a really big badger,_ Mako thought disjointedly, and then the night burst into flame. 

Two bright white jets of fire exploded out of the tent, practically blinding him. One took the hairy thing in the chest; the other low in its right side. It reeled back, roaring, a sound louder than Mako could have imagined coming from a living thing. Then it whipped one enormous arm down in a blurred arc towards the tent. Fuck, it was so _fast_. At the last second another blast of fire took it in the shoulder. The beast was knocked sideways, slightly off-balance, and Mako saw Iroh finally make a run for it. 

He was completely naked, his whole right side a mess of dark and shining blood. He scrambled backwards out of the shredded side of the tent, clearly trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and whatever had come at him. He didn’t stop to firebend; he didn’t stop for anything. But Mako saw immediately that he wasn’t going to make it. The thing was too big, and too fast. Iroh turned and sprinted for the satomobile, leaving a dark spattered trail on the white snow behind him.

The sight finally threw Mako into motion. He let the fire in his hands go out and flung open the passenger door, giving Iroh somewhere to go as he rolled into the driver’s seat. The thick sleeping bag he’d been using as a blanket tangled in his legs and he kicked it roughly out of the way. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the creature whirl, dropping to all fours before galloping after Iroh with the speed of a freight train.

“Mako!” Iroh yelled. He needn't have bothered. Mako was already halfway out of the driver’s side door. He skidded as his bare feet hit the packed snow and he went down, hitting his knee hard against the pavement, but his old pro-bender reflexes kicked in and he scrambled to his feet. Keeping the hood of the sato between him and the monster Mako pulled hard at every bit of fire inside him. The fire sort of _stretched,_ pulling apart across his chest. He swept back his arm, then stepped forward.

Iroh saw the move coming and jagged right, giving him a clear shot. Even injured and terrified the guy was perceptive as hell. Mako threw his arm forwards and released. Blue-white lightning flashed past the area where Iroh had been a moment before and hit the fucking thing right in the face. Mako felt a surge of pride, a bubbly, giddy feeling that floated just beneath the fear. He might not have Iroh’s long-distance aim, but he was still master of the mid-range throw. _Take that, you hairy asshole._

There was another deafening roar and the sound of what might be long claws scrabbling on bare rock as the world flashed white. The air filled with the acrid smell of burning fur. Mako didn’t wait. He skidded back to the door, closed one hand around the handle and hauled himself inside. Then he slammed the door shut. The keys were still in it, thank the spirits, and the sato roared to life as he twisted the ignition. He didn’t even look at Iroh, who seemed to be curled on his side in the lowered passenger seat. He just slammed the sato into gear, ignoring the flash of pain in his knee and peeling out onto the road, his bare feet somehow feeling the pedals through what felt like a foot of sleeping bag.

“How bad are you?” Mako asked after a minute. 

“Fine,” Iroh said through gritted teeth. “Looks worse than it is.”

Mako pulled over a few minutes later, judging he’d gone far enough to get them out of danger. He glanced over at Iroh, who was still curled in a ball, his bare back to the driver’s seat. “Hang on, I,” he said, and got out to limp around back. All of Iroh’s belongings had been in the tent, so he fished around in his own bag and pulled out his least favorite shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He spared a glance at his neatly folded pile of boxers, then decided he didn’t want to go there. Why Iroh was starkers was beyond him, but there were some things a guy just didn’t do. Instead he grabbed the small medical kit from their supplies. He handed Iroh the clothes as he got back inside. “Put these on.” 

“Thanks,” Iroh grunted and slowly sat up, sucking in a sharp breath. Mako turned away as he struggled into the pants, then looked back when he heard him open the lid of the medical kit. Iroh had flipped down the overhead mirror to look at his side. Four long cuts slashed diagonally across his ribs and down over his right hip. He dabbed tentatively at the curtain of blood with a gauze pad. Up close the wounds didn’t look as bad as he’d feared, but Mako found himself turning away anyway. It wasn’t the blood, he was fine with blood, but there was something about seeing the muscle just underneath the skin that made his stomach turn. Spirits, that must hurt like hell.

“I’m fine,” Iroh said again, noticing Mako’s look. He tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace. “Considering the size of those claws, I’m damned lucky I’m not sitting here holding my guts.” The fact that the cuts ended only about four inches from his business went unmentioned. 

“No, I was mostly wondering why I keep having to see you naked this week. And didn’t I already lend you clothes, too?”

Iroh snorted. “Believe me, none of it has been my idea.” He looked down. “I might lose the deposit on the snowto. I can get charcoal out of anything, but I don’t know about blood.”

“Worry less about blood getting into things and more about stopping it getting out of you, okay?”

Iroh hummed noncommittally and went back to mopping up the blood, his face locked in concentration. Mako meanwhile pulled up the leg of his pants. His left knee was scraped and seemed a little swollen from where he’d fallen, but it didn’t look that bad. Unlike Iroh, he’d decided to simply sleep in his clothes, and regretted nothing.

“What the hell was that thing?” Mako asked as Iroh pulled a few antiseptic wipes and a roll of bandages from the kit. 

“Bear.”

“Just a bear?” He’d never heard of such a thing. What the hell was a bear?

“Just bear.”

“Not platypus bear or skunk bear or armadillo bear or gopher bear?”

Iroh shook his head, then carefully started cleaning the long cuts with the wipes. He hissed sharply and looked away as the alcohol touched the first opening, then kept going anyway. “Regular bear,” he said, his voice tight. “They have them in the Earth Kingdom. Never seen one before, but I had all the picture books when I was a kid.” Iroh folded the bloody wipes back into their packaging, then lifted his arm and started on the bandages. He was still bleeding a lot, but there seemed to be nothing left to do but tape it all up.

“Of course you did.” Somehow that didn’t surprise Mako at all. Iroh smiled a little at that, then bit his lip as he tried to maneuver the bandages into place. He didn’t seem to have enough hands to both hold it and wrap at the same time. 

“Here,” Mako said. “Hold still. I’ll get that.” 

Iroh flashed him a grateful look and handed him the bandages. “Thanks.”

Mako pressed the end of the bandage roll to a spot just above the middle of his ribs, then started wrapping. As he did he noticed that the new cuts paralleled the long, thin white scar that ran from just under Iroh’s armpit down to the middle of his stomach, supposedly from a sword cut he’d gotten shortly after he’d joined the United Forces. The sight made Mako pause. He’d always thought of Iroh as having a rather cushy life, with two living parents who loved him and the best education and a gorgeous wife and what seemed like all the power and money in the world. Mako had none of those things, and the way things were going he probably never would no matter how hard he worked. But shit, even Iroh’s scars had scars now, and no one had made him join the Forces, or even leave his palace. Perhaps he should get more credit for that.

“You’re never going to let me take you camping again, are you?” Iroh muttered.

“Definitely not,” Mako said, as if Iroh getting mauled by a bear were the reason and not the fact that he had no intention of ever sleeping on the ground on purpose. “I’m assuming you’re fine sleeping in the sato though now, right? Or did you want to go back out there?” He tucked the end of the bandage into itself. Iroh now looked like one of those seaweed rolls, his entire lower torso basically one big wrapping. 

Iroh made an indistinct grumbling noise that sounded suspiciously like a curse, then slipped into the borrowed shirt. 

***

Mako wound up staying up the entire night. He and Iroh had agreed to set a watch, with Mako taking the first shift, but Iroh had taken enough painkillers from the medical kit to tranquilize Naga and in the end Mako hadn’t had the heart to wake him up. He was used to overnights anyway, and though it had been boring and uneventful he’d managed to stay alert. He’d taken out his notebook to pass the time, first listing every fact he knew about the case and trying to make connections. 

_1\. Red Lotus wants “balance” between good and evil._

_2\. Red Lotus wanted to kidnap Avatar._

_3\. Red Lotus wanted to kidnap Korra - no attempt on Aang?_

_4\. Four members involved went to prison._

_5\. One unknown member (Unalaq) let free. Later opens spirit portals to free Vaatu._

_6\. Spirit portals open. Why is this not success for RL?_

_7\. Zaheer escapes GL._

_8\. Earth Queen covers up escape._

_9\. Zaheer does fuck-all for years. What was he doing??_

_10\. Zaheer frees Ming-Hua from Fire Nation prison. Was previously in relationship with P’Li._

_11\. Zaheer has help of unknown number of airbenders._

_12\. Zaheer in the Fire Nation._

_13\. Spike in tire on way to GL. Not an accident?_

He then started moving the pieces, seeing if anything shook out. It was a technique that had served him well before. Sometimes it was easier to see new things if you put them in a new way. For example:

_Zaheer does fuck-all for years. What was he doing?? + Zaheer has help of unknown number of airbenders = Zaheer was recruiting airbenders to RL? But how?_

_Zaheer frees Ming-Hua. Was previously in relationship with P’Li + Zaheer in the Fire Nation + Zaheer has help of unknown number of airbenders = Something about Fire Nation helped with getting airbenders? Made going there important?_

_Red Lotus wanted to kidnap Avatar + Red Lotus wanted to kidnap Korra - no attempt on Aang? = It mattered she was young. Raise Avatar on their side? Then what do they want now?_

Yet it felt like for every insight, he only wrote down more questions. Still, it was something to pass the time.

Once he’d exhausted everything he knew, he fell to sketching. Mako had always been a fairly good artist, at least with a pencil, even if he didn’t use the talent for much besides blocking out crime scenes and keeping himself awake. By the time the sky began to lighten he had a very passable rearing bear, one of Iroh asleep on his back in the passenger seat, and a close-in portrait of Kuvira that he’d done from memory. Mako was just putting the finishing touches on Kuvira’s small upturned nose when he heard Iroh stir.

“Why is it light?” he mumbled. 

Mako closed his notebook with a snap and set it on the dash. He didn’t like people looking at his sketches, and anyway he’d told Iroh he’d gone to a bar after walking Kuvira home after dinner in Zaofu. A drawing of her with her dark hair spilled across her pillow wasn’t something he needed to see. “Between the two of us, you needed the beauty sleep.”

“Not arguing there.” Iroh coughed a little and sat up with a groan. Then he looked down at himself. “Shit.” 

Mako followed his gaze. The entire right side of Iroh’s shirt was soaked through with blood.

***

They drove the rest of the day. Or rather, Mako drove, and Iroh bitched about not being allowed to drive in between long periods of sulking in the passenger seat and a few stops to change his bandages. Mako’s left knee had turned into a huge purple bruise overnight, but there was thankfully nothing wrong with his driving leg. By the time the sun set, however, he had to admit that they were going to spend another night on the road anyway. He was simply too tired to drive safely in the dark, and despite his many complaints to the contrary Iroh wasn’t up for it, either.

All day they had tactfully avoided talking about what they’d found back at the campsite. It sat between them in the cupholder, occasionally bouncing and clattering in a way that elicited nothing but tight-lipped silence. To acknowledge it further than that was to admit that what had started as a relatively simple investigation was now deadly serious.

Mako had driven them back to the campsite early that morning. It was all well and good for Iroh to wear his sweatpants and ruin his shirts, but it got harder when it came to things like shoes, so it had been an easy decision to go back and salvage what they could. Thankfully most of Iroh’s things were still there, if a bit scattered, the tent having taken the brunt of the bear’s rage and Iroh’s return fire. Mako packed it all up as best he could, it being difficult for Iroh to bend, while Iroh himself did some more work cleaning up his side with another round of alcohol wipes. He clearly needed a waterbender, that much was obvious, but at least the flow of blood had finally slowed to a trickle. Hopefully the frequent sterilization would help him avoid another infection.

Mako was loading the last of the gear into the satomobile when he heard the crunch of boots. He looked up to see Iroh walking over to an area about ten feet from where the tent had been. He nudged something with the toe of his boot. 

“Mako.” That was it. Just his name. But Mako could tell from the tone of his voice that whatever it was, it wasn’t good. Spirits, what else could go wrong?

Mako walked over to where Iroh was standing. On the ground lay a shining metal spike, identical to the one that had been in the side of the tire. It was flecked with blood and hair. 

Iroh looked at him, eyes a little wide. He bit his lip, then said, “I’d been wondering. Wild animals don’t usually attack people.” He toed the spike. “Not unless they’re provoked.”

Mako felt his stomach drop. He mentally added a line in his notebook.

_14\. Spike in bear on way to GL. Not an accident._

Fuck, he hated being right.


	39. ASAMI

Asami squinted, then carefully dipped the soldering iron back into the little box one final time. _There._ The last wire, the little blue one she’d saved until the very end, was now secured firmly in place. She switched off the iron and propped it on the table to cool. She wouldn’t dare do something as flammable as soldering on any of the furniture in the guest room, but Air Temple Island had a number of outbuildings and Asami had long ago claimed this small shed as a sometimes workstation for the times she and Iroh stayed over. Even though Jinora was in her teens now and Korra actually lived on the island, Iroh was still a favorite babysitter for the younger boys, so despite living just across the water they were frequent guests. Sometimes she wasn’t sure who liked it more, Meelo and Rohan or Iroh himself.

Asami had been out here ever since the night Korra had fetched her. She hated staying in the apartment alone, and had been both surprised and touched to learn that everyone else knew that, too, and wanted her to stay on the island. Once she'd learned she could re-route any incoming telephone calls to the apartment in case Iroh called, she'd readily agreed. Weekday mornings she took the ferry over to the mainland and either went to RCCC to continue the planning of the princes’ royal visit or drove out to Future Industries. In-between Asami either spent time with Korra and Pema and Tenzin’s family or worked in her shed, and in both cases tried not to let the fact that Iroh _hadn’t_ called again worry her too much. He and Mako were almost certainly fine; there was no guarantee Gaoda Lung even had a telephone.

Asami put the little gray box down on the table, wishing she’d thought of it sooner. What had started as a drunken fiasco fueled by heartbreak had, in the clear light of sobriety, turned out to be a half-decent idea. There might never be something that would let her be able to find Iroh wherever he was—or anyone in particular, for that matter—but Asami thought she might have hit on a way for a small piece of mecha to locate its pair. If Iroh, or anyone, were possessed of the other piece, it could be used as a kind of beacon that a paired radio receiver could home in on. There were probably a lot of other applications for such a thing, but if nothing else it might give her more peace of mind when Iroh was away. She hadn’t been able to test it by herself though. Someone else had to have the transmitter and move around.

The door squeaked open behind her. “Princess?” said a high voice.

Asami bit her lip to keep from laughing, not bothering to look up from her work. “Yes, my loyal subject?” Only one person on Air Temple Island called her princess unironically.

There was a giggle, then Ikki appeared by her side. Pema and Tenzin’s youngest daughter had grown up a lot since Asami had first met her, but in a lot of ways she looked the same. Straight brown hair worn in two buns on either side of her head, curious gray eyes, and a wide mouth that never seemed to be closed. She was Pema in miniature, with just a dash of airbender thrown in for good measure. 

Ikki bounced a little on the balls of her feet. “I have a question.” 

She usually did. Asami put the little receiver box down next to the flat transmitter disk. It could wait. In fact, it should. Spirits, she had so much real work to do, she really shouldn’t be taking evenings off at all. And anyway, Iroh was fine. He didn’t need a locator. Because he was fine. 

She turned to Ikki, giving the girl her full attention. “How can I help?”

“What do you do when you like a boy but he doesn’t like you back because he likes someone else? How do you make him like you?”

Asami pressed her lips together. She honestly had no idea why Ikki always came to her with things like this. “Um. Well, you can’t _make_ someone like you, Icks.” She smiled a little, remembering a story Korra had told her about Ikki trying to make a love potion she could use on Mako. “Or at least, you shouldn’t.”

“Mom did.” 

Asami shook her head. “No, that’s different. Your mom didn’t make your dad like her. She only told him that she did, and then let him decide.” 

“But Jinora said that mom made dad like her because dad wanted us and his other lady didn’t but mom did, so then he liked mom instead.” Ikki gave another little bounce. “So I can want something the other girl doesn’t but the boy does and that will make him like me, right?”

Asami felt a small stab of fear at that. It hit a little too close to home. She and Iroh had had that talk, of course, had it years ago, but it hadn’t exactly been conclusive. Or rather, it hadn’t been for her. An image flashed across her mind of her old friend Bao Hui, looking twenty years too old as she rushed off to Baby Benders. “Not really, Icks,” she said slowly. “You can’t just decide to want or not want something like that just to impress a guy. You should be yourself. Then boys will like you for who you are.”

Ikki stuck out her lower lip. “Being myself isn’t _working._ It’s not fair. You’ve always had a boyfriend forever, and I haven’t had _one.”_

 _You should have seen me at your age,_ Asami thought. She’d been considerably more awkward than Ikki, and had been closer to 16 than 11 when she’d first had anything close to a boyfriend. Then again, the gap between the last time she’d kissed Mako and the first time she’d kissed Iroh had been less than 24 hours, and Ikki was entirely too perceptive. The less said on this topic, the better.

“So who is this guy?” Asami asked, tactfully steering the conversation away from her own life. This week had been entirely too stressful on the relationship front already. She and Iroh had both overreacted, he was going to come home soon, and that was all that mattered. Because, even if he hadn’t called in a few days, he was fine.

Ikki abruptly spun on her heels, swinging her arms in a sweeping circle. “Oh, he’s soooo great. He’s big and strong, and handsome, and really funny and nice to everyone. He’s perfect in every way except that he’s not a prince.”

Asami laughed. “Sounds like a great catch.” She narrowed her eyes dramatically. “Who’s your rival? Is it another princess?” She reached for the shell of the tracking mecha and shook it—Ikki would have no idea what it actually did. “Want me to take her out?”

The girl’s eyes grew wide. “Oh! No, she’s really nice, too. I like her. I just want her to go away.”

Asami nodded and put the reciever down. “Good. You should win this guy fair and square. So, are you going to tell me who he is?” She was honestly curious. There were quite a few male airbenders on the island—she had said “he”—as well as acolytes, but none of them were Ikki’s age as far as Asami knew. The closest was Jinora’s boyfriend, Kai. If Ikki had fallen for Kai’s charms, that was going to create drama for sure, but she wouldn’t necessarily describe him as “big and strong” or “nice to everyone.” Kai was thin and lithe, and more of a trickster than a gentleman. Jinora was the straight one in that relationship for sure.

Ikki moved close, then whispered. “Bolin.” 

Asami almost choked. “B-Bolin? _The_ Bolin?” Ikki nodded vigorously. “But Icks, Bolin is 22. He’s a grown man, and twice your age. What are you doing liking him?”

“Mom is a lot younger than dad,” she said defiantly. “Age doesn’t matter if you really love each other.”

Asami rubbed her temples. Ikki wasn’t wrong. Tenzin was 15 years older than Pema. How that wasn’t weird must have been a lesson to the kids at some point. Apparently their daughter had been paying attention.

“Okay. Um, Bolin. Well, he’s certainly a great guy. But Ikki, are you sure there isn’t someone closer to your own age that you can like? And like you said, Bolin has a girlfriend. Opal would be sad if you took him away.”

Ikki only shrugged. “Iroh had a different girlfriend once. I met her when we all went to visit. She was really pretty and acted just like a princess. Do you feel bad that you took him away?”

Asami sighed. She’d never met Iroh’s ex, the one he’d supposedly almost married. By all accounts Azaia had been everything a Fire Princess should be except actually in love with the prince. Thankfully that had eventually been enough to disqualify her, though reading between the lines it had been a close thing. Iroh for the most part didn’t like to talk about it. Most of what Asami knew had come from his sister and, to a lesser extent, Katara.

“Of course not,” she said. “I’m very glad I got Iroh. But I didn’t break them up on purpose.”

“I don’t want to break them up,” Ikki said defensively. “I want him to pick me instead.”

“Iroh picked me after they broke up.”

“Then they need to break up so he can pick me.”

“That’s… that’s not really different.” For some reason it made Asami think of Korra and the whole mess with Mako years ago. The idea made her pause. It wasn’t the same thing, not at all, but still. Ikki was at an impressionable age, and like it or not the older people in her life were setting the tone. So what did she, Asami, wish Korra had done differently? 

“How about this, Icks,” she said. “You need to tell Bolin how you feel. None of this guessing and flirting stuff, all right? Just be honest. Get him alone, tell him what you told me, and ask him if he likes you back. Then, whatever he says, believe him.” That second part was where she’d blamed Mako far more than Korra, though it had been so long ago now it hardly mattered. Still, if she was going for instruction... “Then, I think you should tell Opal, too.”

Ikki frowned. “Won’t Opal be mad?”

“Maybe. But she’ll be more mad if she thinks you’re her friend and then finds out you like her boyfriend and didn’t tell her. Just be honest, and let Bolin choose.” 

The little airbender gave her a solemn nod. “How can I get Bolin alone though? He’s always with everybody.”

Asami thought for a minute. She really shouldn’t get involved. Bolin had made some pretty terrible relationship decisions over the years, but there was no way he was going to break up with his long-time girlfriend for Ikki. At the same time, it wouldn’t do her any good to be carrying a torch for someone so completely unavailable, and shutting this crush down early might be best for everyone, Ikki included. Besides, everything else was such a disaster; the Red Lotus, the impending royal visit, the mess with Iroh’s brothers and what they’d done to him, all of their fights, his odd behavior during his blackout and the mystery at the pier, all the flawed pedestrian bridges that Future Industries now had to replace. And Iroh hadn’t called since Thursday morning. Not that that meant anything. But compared to all that, what was an 11-year-old’s unrealistic crush? It might be nice to spend a few hours on a concrete, solvable problem. 

Asami picked up the small square receiver and snapped the back shut, then grabbed the already completed transmitter. “I’ll help you find Bolin when he’s alone. The rest is all you. What do you say?”


	40. ASAMI

The next day Bolin and Opal came to Air Temple Island. Iroh still hadn’t called. What had been a little niggle of worry in the back of Asami’s mind was slowly settling into a quiet, constant fear. Bolin must be feeling it too; his hug of greeting was especially tight. She didn’t have to ask if he’d heard from Mako. 

The four of them—including Korra—had decided to have a picnic lunch down on the beach. It was still cold, but finally clear, and with enough layers and Korra’s promise of a fire it looked manageable. It was also a welcome distraction. Asami pulled her coat tight against the wind and they walked down the narrow path to the secluded beach on the back side of the island. It was a bit farther from the buildings and therefore more private, which in turn meant that they were less likely to be interrupted. 

Or at least, that was the idea. Asami fingered the prototype transmitter inside her coat pocket. She’d given Ikki the receiver that morning, as well as detailed instructions on how to use it. The principle wasn’t that hard, and they’d gone over it several times. Now all she had to do was get Bolin to carry the transmitter.

She fell in beside him as they made their way down the wide road that led to the cliffs on the far side of the island. Behind them, Opal and Korra chatted animatedly about an upcoming pro-bending match and how soon the sport might begin to incorporate airbending. Now was as good a time as any.

“Bolin, can you do me a favor?” she asked.

He turned, a pretzel halfway to his mouth. “Sure, Asami. What’s up?” Pabu, who was draped around his neck like a fuzzy scarf, seized on his hesitation and snatched it with a satisfied chirp. Bolin frowned sharply and tapped him on the nose. “No stealing, Pabu. We talked about this.”

Asami fished in her pocket and brought out the transmitter. After several iterations the flat gray square was down to about half the size of a deck of cards. If she expected Iroh to keep it on him, it had to be small and light. “Can you hold on to this for a few hours? It’s a new prototype I’m testing.”

Bolin hesitated at that. “It’s not going to blow up, is it?”

Asami laughed, shaking her head. “No, no. There aren’t even any moving parts. But I can’t tell you what it _does_ do or it might ruin the test. Are you game?”

He raised an eyebrow. “No boom boom?”

She shook her head hard. “Not a single boom, I swear.”

Bolin stared at her another long second before holding out his hand, palm up. “Okay. What do I…?”

“Nothing. Just stick it in your pocket.”

He dropped the transmitter into the pocket of his pants. “Why me?” 

Asami smiled. She’d already thought of this part. “I’m making it for Iroh. It’s built for two axes, not three, and you’re the only one in the group who can’t fly. Besides, I only need it to work with men’s pants pockets for now. I think it would be too big for Opal or Korra.” All of that was true. It just wasn’t the main reason.

“What’s too big for Korra?” the Avatar called from behind them.

“This thing in Bolin’s pants!” Asami yelled back. Korra made a choking noise as Bolin himself flushed bright pink. Opal let out a high pitched giggle.

“Dibs!” the airbender called. Asami stifled a laugh. When they’d first met she’d found Opal stiff and somewhat prudish, but it had quickly turned out that was more about her sheltered upbringing than anything. After a few years in Republic City and near constant exposure to the rest of Team Avatar, she’d loosened up considerably.

Bolin’s face went from pink to flaming red, though he also looked oddly pleased. He stuffed the transmitter in his pocket, then dropped back to walk beside his girlfriend. _Mission accomplished,_ Asami thought. Now, all she had to do was find a way to get him to wander off alone. 

That part was much easier said than done. She spent most of lunch trying to get him to go back up to the house, hoping Ikki would see him move on the receiver and corner him on the way. She’d said she’d forgotten her purse, that she wanted a different drink, that she was too cold. But Bolin only had eyes for Opal, and though he was kind he had none of Iroh or even Mako’s innate chivalry. She couldn’t outright ask him, that would be too obvious, but as lunch wound to a close it was clear that Bolin wasn’t taking the hint.

It was time for desperate measures.

“Korra,” she said, turning to where her friend had stretched out on the blanket, “didn’t you want to bring back the polar bear dog plunge?” She made a show of looking at the cloudless sky. “It’s not going to get much nicer than this, and there’s hardly any wind.”

Korra sat up, her face breaking into a delighted smile. “I thought you said you’d never do it.”

 _I sure did, you crazy woman,_ Asami thought. “Yeah, but I wanna respect your traditions. Working on all of this stuff for Iroh’s family and Prince Wu got me thinking about that. Republic City is great in a lot of ways, but sometimes stuff like that gets lost in the melting pot.”

Korra was already standing. She stripped off her boots, then untied her overskirt. “Well, you don’t have to ask me twice. It’s not just a Southern Water Tribe winter tradition. It’s great for your health.” She shot Bolin a pointed look. “Gets the blood flowing. Strength, stamina, stuff like that.”

“No way,” Bolin mumbled through a mouthful of sandwich. He shook his head vigorously. “It’s barely above freezing. I’d die.”

Korra made a scoffing noise. “Wimp.” Asami grinned. Sometimes her friends were very predictable.

His eyes flew wide. “I am _not_ a wimp!”

“Are too. I’ve gone swimming when there was actual ice on the water, Bolin.” Korra started untying her pants. 

“Wait, what are you doing?” Bolin gasped. 

Korra gave him a dismissive look. “Oh please. You’ve seen me change in the locker room hundreds of times. We’re nowhere near the house. I’m not getting my clothes wet.”

Asami closed her eyes, then stood. _Time to take one for the team, Icks._ She unbuttoned her coat.

Bolin’s eyes were like saucers. “You… you, too?” he sputtered.

She gave him a level stare. “I’m respecting Korra’s heritage. And I’m not a wimp.” She let her gaze shift to Opal. “What about you??

Opal hesitated, then stood. Asami smiled. She’d been the wild card. 

“I’ll try anything once,” she said. She leaned down to slip off her shoes. “I never thought about how hard it must be for you Korra, spending all your days immersed in the culture of the Air Nation instead of your own. You must miss home.”

Korra only shrugged, but Asami could tell by her face she was touched. She was standing on the freezing beach in nothing but her underwear now, completely unconcerned by either the weather or her relative state of undress. 

Bolin was looking pointedly down at the picnic basket. Then he started unlacing his shoes. Korra pumped her fist in the air. “Yes! Team Avatar takes the plunge!”

“I am never going to forgive Mako for not having to do this,” he muttered. 

“Or Iroh,” Opal said, looking at Asami.

Asami rolled her eyes and stepped out of her pants. Spirits, she was already freezing. “As if. Iroh would have been in about four seconds after Korra said the word ‘swim.’ He claims he gets cold, but I have yet to see it.” She tried not to think about why he hadn’t called.

Soon all four of them were standing on the beach in their underclothes. Bolin, usually one of the more confident of the group, seemed the most visibly uncomfortable. Maybe it had something to do with being the only guy, or maybe it was just seeing his closest female friends nearly naked, or just not knowing exactly where to look in front of Opal. 

“Ready… set… go!” Korra shouted. Without waiting for anyone else she charged down the beach, whooping. Asami took off after her, Bolin and Opal to her right. She wasn’t nearly as fast as Korra, or as enthusiastic. _This had better work,_ she thought as she neared the surf. _And Ikki, you owe me so big._

The water was even colder than she’d imagined. She wasn’t more than past her ankle before her feet began to cramp. Spirits, Korra’s people did this for fun? But she kept going, more high on adrenaline now than anything else. Soon she was up to her knees and losing momentum. She heard what sounded like Opal screeching. It was now or never.

Asami dived. The cold was like a physical thing, a vise around her chest, squeezing the air out of her. She broke the surface, flipping her hair out of her face. “Fuck!” she shouted. “Your traditions are terrible, Korra!” She rubbed at her eyes, then looked around. Korra floated lazily on her back on the water, an amused smile on her face. Opal had jumped into Bolin’s arms and seemed to be trying to use him as a heater in a gesture that looked all too familiar from the times she and Iroh had gone to the beach. Her expression looked shocked. Bolin, for his part, had his mouth contorted into a rictus of pain.

“Isn’t it refreshing?” Korra called. 

“I hate you,” Bolin grumbled. The look on his face for a moment was so much like Mako that Asami couldn’t help but laugh. Usually the two brothers looked nothing alike. 

They stumbled out of the water a minute later, everyone but Korra cursing and muttering under their breath. 

“Oh shit,” Asami said, feigning a look around the beach. “We don’t have towels or anything.” She let her eyes drift to Bolin, who stood chattering in his boxers. “Bolin, you’re the only one halfway presentable. Can you run up to the house and get some?”

“I can do it,” Korra said. 

“No, we need you to make us a beach fire. I think you owe us that.” She turned her gaze back to Bolin and tried to sound as pitiful as possible. “Bolin, please? Unless you want me to use Pabu." Pabu gave her a soft chuff of disapproval.

He looked down at himself. “Like this?”

“Throw on your pants. I’m serious, we’re going to freeze to death if we stay wet.” Almost on cue, Opal let out a big wet sneeze. 

“All right,” he said. He fished his pants up off the blanket and stepped into them. 

There was a small squeak from the path that led down to the beach. Everyone turned. To Asami’s surprise, Ikki stood about halfway down the slope, her eyes as big as dinner plates. 

“Umhi,” she blurted out, speaking so fast Asami could hardly understand her. 

“Ikki, what are you doing here?” she asked. This hadn’t been the plan.

Ikki’s eyes were glued to Bolin, who was still shirtless and dripping wet. “Asamiyou’dbettercome.”

Asami’s heart leapt into her throat. _Iroh!_


	41. IROH

Iroh twirled the metal spike in his hands and tried to think. He hefted it, turning it this way and that so that it shone in the flickering firelight. It didn’t make any sense. He and Mako had seen no one, nor any sign of anyone. Yet the spikes were heavy and, as far as he could tell, solid metal. So either someone had gotten very, very lucky, or they’d shot or bent the metal into their targets from a distance with astounding accuracy. Iroh had good aim, he would know, and hitting something with fire was a lot easier than flinging a half a pound of steel with enough force to puncture rubber and hide. Which made him wonder, _why?_

Why bother to hit the tire, let alone a fucking bear, when whoever was after them clearly had the power and skill to send the long metal spikes into his and Mako’s necks instead? 

“You’re doing your thinking face,” Mako said from across the fire. He’d been scribbling something in his little black notebook again, something he was careful not to let Iroh see and equally careful not to make it obvious that that’s what he was doing. For some reason it made Iroh think of the letters to Asami he wrote and then burned when he was traveling. 

“I don’t think they’re trying to kill us,” he said. 

Mako scowled and snapped the notebook closed. “They’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

“I’m serious.” Iroh shifted slightly, trying and failing to get comfortable. He itched under his bandages. “Think about it. We were both standing on the side of the road next to that flat for an hour or more in broad daylight. Sitting turtle ducks.” He turned the spike in his hand. “I can understand using one of these to stop the snowtomobile, but nothing that’s happened since makes any sense. Avalanches? Wild animal attacks?” Iroh shook his head. “I can’t think of a more imprecise way to kill someone.”

Mako looked thoughtful. “Scare tactic?”

Iroh shrugged, then grimaced as the motion pulled at his side. “I think if they wanted us dead, we would be.”

“But that’s crazy. I’m with the police. You’re United Forces. They can’t imagine we’d scare that easily.”

Iroh felt himself smile at his friend’s bravado. Waking up to a one-ton mass of angry, hairy claws and teeth while naked in the pitch dark was about the scariest thing he’d ever experienced. He felt lucky he hadn’t pissed himself, United Forces or no. It was amazing he hadn’t had nightmares, though at this point he might simply be too tired.

“That’s assuming they know who we are,” he said.

“It’s an awful lot of work to scare off a couple of nobodies.”

“Hmm. Good point. Perhaps they’re only trying to slow us down?”

“That makes more sense to me. We lost almost a whole day digging that tunnel.” 

“It gives us a place to start,” Iroh said. “You’re the detective. What do you think?”

Mako scratched at his temple, then opened his notebook again. “The key to most crimes is motive and opportunity. So, who knows we’re here?” He started ticking off his fingers. “Chief Beifong, Asami, Tenzin, and by this point probably Korra.”

“Kuvira,” Iroh added.

“Kuvira. And probably Bolin and Opal, just to be safe. Maybe Suyin Beifong. Did you tell anyone else? Anyone in the Forces or anything?”

“No. I only told them I was taking leave.”

Mako nodded. “I think we can rule all of them out.” He met Iroh’s eyes. “You _did_ make up with Asami, right?”

Iroh glared at him. 

“Okay. So, the less obvious. I talked to the Zaofu police. Two officers. They radioed up to Gaoda Lung. So, presumably the White Lotus knows, too. Then we have people on the train, ticket counters, dinner, and the hotel.”

“That’s starting to get pretty far-fetched,” Iroh said.

“Right. So, motive. Who cares we’re here? Or who benefits if we aren’t?”

Iroh thought about it. “White Lotus is the most obvious. If Zaheer’s escape was their fault, they could be trying to save face.”

“That’s about where I got,” Mako said. “But everyone kind of blames them anyway, right? So there’s not much left to save. What about Zaheer himself?”

That was an uncomfortable thought. “Perhaps. But he doesn’t know we’re here. He probably doesn’t even know who we are.”

“I bet he knows who you are,” Mako said. “Everyone knows who you are, and it sounds like he’s got the whole United Forces on his ass now.” He scratched out something in his notebook, then flipped back a few pages. Iroh saw a few flashes of what looked like drawings. Portraits? That was interesting. He had no idea his friend drew. 

Mako frowned suddenly, then looked up. “Wait. Think about it, I. The avalanche and the bear both, those things happened when we weren’t together. When it was obvious that we weren’t together. And they both happened to you.”

Iroh gazed into the fire. He hadn’t thought of that. 

_Everyone knows who you are._

***

“You have got to be kidding me.” Mako threw his head back and looked up at the slowly lightening sky. “You have _got_ to be fucking kidding me.”

Iroh simply stared. Ahead of them a good 50ft section of the road ahead was simply… gone. The asphalt ended in a line so straight it seemed almost surgical. To the left the mountainside shot up in a steep gray cliff. To the right was nothing but empty air. On the opposite side, ragged chunks of asphalt littered a dirt slope that plunged into the abyss.

Mako kicked angrily at the pavement. “At least you weren’t standing on it. I’ll give us that much.”

Iroh took a cautious step backwards. 

This time they were well and truly stuck. There was no way to get the snotomobile across even a ten foot gap, let alone something five times as wide. Yet they were so close. Only a few minutes before Iroh had gotten his first glimpse of Gaoda Lung, it’s sharp spires and delicate bridges standing out against the white sky. He couldn’t see it any more, but he knew they were close. Three miles at the outside, probably less.

“Earthbending?” he asked.

“Could be.” Mako crept towards the edge, examining the damage. “Could be another avalanche, too, or even explosives.”

Iroh glanced in the direction of the White Lotus prison. So close. “How badly do you want your answers?” he asked. He already knew the answer.

Mako clenched his fists. “They’re hiding something. I’m not going to let them.”

Iroh turned to face him. “Then it’s time you finally learned how to fly.”

Thirty minutes later, he was starting to regret his suggestion. Iroh had discovered several years ago that he liked teaching. It was something he thought about from time to time. How maybe one day, when he was old enough and ready to slow down, he might retire from active duty and spend his time doing something quiet and pleasant that didn’t get him mauled by angry bears. It wasn’t just teaching firebending, either, though that was certainly what he knew best. Iroh could see teaching all kinds of things; strategy, tactics, history. 

Students like Mako made him seriously question this approach.

It wasn’t that Mako wasn’t bright. Quite the opposite, actually. He often pointed out his lack of education and formal training, but Iroh thought it was amazing how far he’d gotten by being self taught. Mako had a certain ability to figure things out, which was probably also what made him a good detective. But the same tendencies made him a frustrating student. 

“No, turn your hands a little,” Iroh said, reaching for Mako’s wrist.

Mako pulled his hand away. “I know what I’m doing!”

Iroh sighed. “I know you do, but if you point your palms that way you’ll be launching yourself into the ground.” Mako growled and turned his hands. “Good. Now start breathing again. Go slow. You’ve got to—

Mako launched himself into the air. He flew perhaps six feet, spinning wildly before landing on his side in the snow with a thump. Iroh rubbed at his face. “Mako, it’s not just force. You have to know how to steer or you’ll wind up at the bottom of the cliffs.”

“Then get to the steering part!” Mako snapped, rubbing his side. “I know how to firebend, I. I don’t need all the deep breathing and stuff. Just show me where to put my arms.”

“Fine.” Mako would never learn to control his jumps if he couldn’t properly focus—this wasn’t the first time Iroh had tried to teach him this particular move, either—but perhaps he didn’t need to. It was a straight shot across the missing road. All he really needed was distance. Time to switch tactics. “It’s best if you do it at a bit of a run. When you jump, kind of jump forward. Turn your palms down, like I showed you, and keep your feet flat. You’re going to want to point your toes, but that will send you straight into the dirt. Then give your feet nearly everything you’ve got.”

“Just my feet?” Mako squared his shoulders.

Iroh nodded. “For the first two or three seconds, yes. Then add some power to your hands. Palms down gives you lift. In this case, you don’t need a lot of lift, but keep them straight anyway so you don’t turn. You’re just looking to extend your jump. Like this.”

Without waiting for more complaints, Iroh took off at a run. It hurt, everything hurt, but as he gathered the fire inside him it also felt good. He’d been entirely too still over the last day of riding in the snowto and was getting that bored, stifled feeling that always ruined his mood. The cold wind whipped at his face and he grinned. _Showtime._

When he’d gone about 15 feet, Iroh jumped. He pushed fire out of his feet as hard as he could, then added a touch to his hands. He soared through the air, eventually slowing his bending to land in a soft crouch. Something tugged hard in his side and he swore under his breath. It was a damned inconvenient place to be injured. But hopefully Mako was too far away to hear. 

“Give it a go!” he called back, straightening. He walked over to the cliff face and leaned casually against one of the frozen rocks. This should be good. 

_Bet five yuans he points his toes._

Mako gave him a stiff nod, then started running. After only a few feet he jumped, but instead of leaning forward like Iroh had told him he jumped more or less straight up. Flames burst from his feet, which he’d indeed pointed, and they shot out from under him, flipping Mako onto his back. He landed hard on the road with a whuff. Only then did yellow flames flicker from his hands. 

Iroh stifled a laugh. It reminded him of the first time Asami had tried to use her airbending shoes. 

Mako held up a hand. “Hold on. I’m trying again.”

Iroh stayed where he was. If Mako was self-taught, trial and error might actually be the best approach for him.

Mako stood and dusted himself off, then started running again. This time his jump was at more of an angle. The flames that shot from his feet vaulted him into the air. Mako pinwheeled his arms, apparently shocked at his own success, then scissored his legs as he began to spin. He hit the road on one foot, waving his arms for balance, then toppled over. This time Iroh couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing.

“I hope that hurts,” Mako grunted. 

“Are you ready to listen to me?” 

Mako turned and glanced back in the direction of Gaoda Lung. “Fine. Get back over here. I haven’t got all day.”

***

They stood together at the edge of the broken road. 

“Are you ready?” Iroh said quietly.

Mako gave him a stiff nod. After two hours of steady practice he could reliably, if not gracefully, span a distance that looked roughly equivalent to the chasm. Finally, Iroh had called a halt. Any more practice and he might get too tired.

There wasn’t much they could take from the snowtomobile that wouldn’t weigh them down, so after carefully parking on the shoulder they filled their pockets with what remained of their food supplies. Iroh also took the bulk of the contents from the medical kit and an extra shirt and pair of undershorts—it was more about keeping his cuts clean than anything else—as well as the picture of Asami he took when he traveled. It made for a rather bulky coat, but he’d manage.

“You go first,” he said. “If anything happens, I can probably catch you.” This was a lie, and they both knew it. Iroh had once jumped a short distance with Katara, but she was half Mako’s weight and even then he’d barely been able to manage. There was no way he could fly Mako back up a cliff, let alone catch him in mid-air. But it seemed like the right thing to say.

Mako himself seemed unable to speak, but his face was set with grim determination. He walked back a few paces and Iroh saw him try to visibly relax. Good. Then he took a deep breath, sprinted forward, and jumped.

***

Iroh and Mako trudged up to the gates of Gaoda Lung two hours later. It had turned out they would have needed to walk most of the way anyway. The White Lotus prison sat atop a series of flat bare pinnacles connected by bridges that could only be accessed by a long and winding staircase, the entrance to which had only been a little ways up the road. It had been earthbent directly into the stone of the mountain, twisting upwards in a dizzying spiral for what felt like a mile. Iroh was in good shape, but even without the wounds in his side and the lingering soreness in his calf he would have been winded. Mako wasn’t faring much better. By the time they reached the top his face glistened with sweat.

“That,” he gasped. “Awful.”

Iroh leaned over, panting. “Never. Helping. You again.” He heard Mako snort softly. 

There was a sudden squeal of metal on metal. Iroh snapped his gaze to the building before them. It was short and squat, almost round, and organized around a central spire. Thin buttresses flared out from the center, giving it the look of a metal circus tent. An octagonal door in the center had swung open.

A young woman stepped out. She was perhaps 30, and dressed in long white robes overlaid with stiff gray tunic. Her dark hair had been done up in a knot held together with two long black sticks. She flashed them a bright white smile.

“Good afternoon!” she chirped in the voice of someone who’d just gotten an unexpected present. She bowed low to Mako. “We’ve been expecting you. My name is Joo Dee. I have been given the great honor of showing Detective Mako around the facility.” Then she turned to Iroh and bowed again. “And you must be Prince Iroh! Welcome to Gaoda Lung! Shall we get started?”


	42. ASAMI

Pema stood alone in the living room of the residence at Air Temple Island, the telephone receiver in her hand. 

“Asami, it’s—”

She snatched the telephone out of Pema’s hand. “Iroh! Where have you been? I was about to send Suyin—”

There was a slight cough on the other end. “Ms. Sato? It’s Ren.”

“Oh.” She tried not to sound too disappointed. “Sorry, Ren, I was expecting a call. Is everything okay?”

“All hands on deck, I’m afraid. We still don’t know how bad it is, but best get down there. With your husband out of town, Lt. Commander Chua made the call to activate the UF contingent. But our office will still be needed for—”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, Ren.” _The United Forces? Down where?_ “What’s going on?”

A brief pause. “You don’t know?”

“Know what?” 

“Ms. Sato, the 7th ave pedestrian bridge collapsed. Three dead so far, dozens injured. It’s all over the news. You… no one told you?”

Everything swam out of focus. The 7th ave pedestrian bridge was one of the largest, and spanned a knot of spirit vines that had stubbornly clogged the former entrance to a busy shopping area. A collapse on a sunny Sunday afternoon two weeks before New Year… so many people...

“Ms. Sato?”

“But I told Director Tan to close the bridges,” Asami whispered. “I told him days ago.”

“Not 7th you didn’t.” Ren clicked his tongue, like he did when he was thinking. “Nope, I have the list right here. Got it from your office at Future Industries on Wednesday. 7th wasn’t on the list of bridges with defects.”

But that was impossible. Spirits, she’d spent more than a month and thousands of yuans having every pedestrian bridge in the city inspected, cross-referencing manufacturing records just to make sure. There’s no way they would have missed one. And yet. 

“Ms. Sato?” Asami realized she hadn’t said anything. Her eyes met Pema’s, the other woman’s face now lined with concern. 

She glanced down at her freezing, sopping clothes. “I’m heading down now, Ren. And I’ll tell the Avatar, too. She’s here with me.”

There was a soft curse. “I didn’t realize no one had gotten a hold of her, either. Chua will do in a pinch but spirits he’s no Iroh, especially not in a crisis.” There was a pause. “Please don’t repeat that. In the meantime I’ll work on your statement. I should have a draft in thirty minutes if you’re able to telephone the office from the site.”

“Statement? What statement?”

“For the press. The light pedestrian bridges were one of our flagship projects.” Asami hadn’t even thought of that. Which, of course, was why she needed someone who thought like Ren. “Best have someone at Future Industries work on one, too, if you haven’t already,” he continued. “One of the deaths was a kid, Ms. Sato. Trust me, they’ll be out for blood.”

***

7th ave was a mess.

Lights flashed all along the avenue as people rushed about below. Bright yellow police tape blocked both side streets, and someone had erected a line of wooden barriers to keep both traffic and onlookers away from the wreckage. Lin Beifong herself stood on some kind of box in the center, gesticulating wildly as she directed officers and United Forces soldiers alike. LCDR Chua stood awkwardly off to the side in his scarlet uniform, apparently unclear as to what he should be doing.

The bridge itself now lay in a kind of twisted U across the thick tangle of spirit vines below. The north side was still connected to the staircase, though now at an angle that made it look more like a child’s slide than a bridge. The south side had broken free completely—presumably this is where the material failure had occurred. 

Asami studied it all with an engineer’s detachment. 

She piloted Mo to what she thought of as “sit position,” which tipped her over onto four legs and lowered the central chamber so it rested on the street. She took a quick look around the room to make sure everything was in order, then popped the door and stepped out onto the street.

“Ms. Sato!” someone yelled. Asami turned and saw a fat man with a microphone rushing toward her. “Ms. Sato! What’s this you’ve arrived in?”

“Ms. Sato, this is the second bridge collapse in six weeks,” shouted another. “Does Future Industries feel responsible?”

“Ms. Sato, any comment on today’s tragedy?” chirped a woman in a blue suit.

Asami pushed past the growing gaggle of reporters and started jogging for the thickest concentration of colored lights. They followed her, still shouting questions, but she’d gotten good at ignoring the press over the years and didn’t slow her stride. 

“Chief Beifong!” she called as soon as she spotted Lin. The older woman whipped her head around, then motioned her over.

“What is that thing you came in?” she said. “I thought you’d come with Korra.”

“Mobile clinic,” Asami panted. “I don’t have any healers, obviously, but I thought the supplies could be helpful. Water of course, but other things as well.” She tipped her head to LCDR Chua, who had wandered over. He seemed annoyed, probably because she’d gone straight to the police chief instead of him, but Lin had been the only one doing anything.

The chief gave her a curt nod. “Good thinking. The Avatar is with the injured now, and a few healers from KHA as well. We moved them north onto Momo St. to get them out of the way. Go tell her.”

“Got it.” She took a few steps, then stopped. “And if there’s anything else you need, either from Future Industries or the RCCC, let me know.” Chua’s frown deepened, but she didn’t have time for egos today. Without waiting for a reply Asami started to run, the reporters nipping at her heels.

***

She spilled through the front door of the residence at Air Temple Island seven hours later, filthy and exhausted. Korra looked even worse. Her mouth was set in a thin line, her blue eyes far away. Neither of them had said much on the ride back. 

Tenzin rushed forward. He’d left a bit earlier, having been shooed away by Lin Beifong after he’d run out of useful things to do. “How is it? Are you girls all right?”

Korra walked over and flopped on the couch. She didn’t answer. Asami turned back to Tenzin and shook her head. “We did what we could. Everyone who could walk away did, and the rest are at KHA. Forty six in all. And… and the five who…” She didn’t finish. The little boy had only been three. In her mind’s eye he looked like a cross between Rohan and Iroh, with chubby arms and floppy black hair and thick, dark lashes. Asami bit her lip and tried to pull herself together. Korra continued to stare dully at the carpet.

Tenzin looked away. “Now isn’t the time, but later, I’d like to understand what happened. To the bridge, that is. They’ve been there for years. I never thought they’d be a danger.” Asami opened her mouth but he held up a hand. “I said later. You’re tired, we all are. Pema saved some dinner.”

Asami wasn’t hungry, but she nodded anyway. There wasn’t any fight left in her.

“Oh, and you had a call, Asami.” Her eyes snapped to Tenzin as he rummaged in his pocket. In all of the chaos she’d actually forgotten her worry for Iroh and Mako. 

He pulled out a piece of paper. “A Wen Kun called. About an hour ago. He said to call him back and left a number, that it was urgent.” Tenzin lowered the paper. “Do you know who that is?”

Asami stopped. Wen Kun was the current Board Chair at Future Industries. Assuming this was a call relayed from the apartment, what would he be doing calling her home on a Sunday? She hurried to the telephone, wondering what fresh horror was waiting now. Was there another flaw in production? Something that would explain the collapse?

It picked up on the first ring. “Wen Kun,” said a gruff voice. The chairman answered his home telephone like Iroh. She would have laughed if she’d had any laughter left in her.

“Hi, Mr. Chairman, it’s Asami,” she said. “I’m sorry, I only just got back. You said it’s urgent?”

“I assume you’ve heard? When at first I couldn’t reach you I figured you were down at the site, it being so close.”

“I was.”

There was a soft sigh. “Oh. Any idea what happened?”

“No, but I put some people on finding out. I don’t understand. We inspected that one. It should… it should be fine.”

“Well it isn’t.”

 _No shit._ “We should know by tomorrow. I’ll be ready to brief the Board as soon as you’d like, and communications already issued a statement of full support. In the meantime, Director Tan has closed all the bridges in the city to prevent future accidents.”

“I know. You did all the right things. I’m sorry, Asami.”

“I’m sorry, too. But we’ll get to the bottom of—”

“No,” he said firmly. “That’s not what I meant. The Board met a few hours ago. This incident, combined with the collapse at 34th in November, it’s too much of a liability. Stock prices are going to fall through the floor tomorrow unless we take immediate action. There’s nothing we can do about your ownership, but we’ve decided that it’s no longer in Future Industries’ best interest to have you at its helm.”

She must have misheard him. “What?”

Another sigh. “You’ve had a good run, Asami. It’s amazing what you’ve done with the company in the last five years, especially at your age. But I’ll need your resignation on my desk by 9am.”

“You… you want to fire me because I did the right thing?” Asami felt numb. This couldn’t be happening.

“No, of course not," Wen said. "But we need to be seen as responsive and decisive. And now there’s news of some mobile hospital project? Spirits, I got a call from someone at Financial Crimes today asking if we started the research before or after the 34th street collapse. They seem to think there's a chance we caused the accidents as a way to build business for these emergency clinic mecha."

Asami sucked in a breath. "Of course not!" she sputtered. That was absurd. Who would do such a thing? "It just happened that way. I only tested it last week."

"Regardless, it looks bad, Asami. Investors are scared. Vendors are pulling out. You have to understand. Future Industries needs a new face by tomorrow at noon or by Tuesday there won’t be any company left at all.”


End file.
